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CAMP AND CAMINO 

IN 

LOWER 

CALIFORNIA 






Scene on El Camino Real 



CAMP AND CAMINO IN 
LOWER CALIFORNIA 



A RECORD OF THE ADVENTURES 
OF THE AUTHOR WHILE EXPLORING 
PENINSULAR CALIFORNIA, MEXICO 



ARTHUR WALBRIDGE NORTH 

M 
AUTHOR OF 

"THE MOTHER OF CALIFORNIA" 



WITH A FOREWORD BY 

ADMIRAL ROBLEY D. EVANS 

U. S. N. 



NEW YORK 

THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY 
1910 






COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY 

THE BAKER (Sf TAYLOR COMPANY 



Publuhed, April, 1910 



lO 




f 



THE PREMIER PRESS 
NEW YORK 



©CI.A265242 



In memory of the loving hospitality of 
that peaceful Catskill home wherein 
these pages were written^ I inscribe 
this volume to my kinswoman, Miss 
Sarah North, of Walton, and to the 
memory of her sister, the late Miss 
Margaret North . ^^ jj/^ j^^ 



FOREWORD 

When a man is in the midst of dangers himself he has 
small chance for books; but let him once be deprived of per- 
sonal excitement and then even to read of the adventures 
of others becomes a most satisfying diversion. I have en- 
joyed looking over the manuscript of this work of Mr. 
North's. Indeed, every man with an ounce of red blood in 
his veins or any fondness for a dash of excitement or a 
whiff of fresh air will obtain a whole lot of pleasure by 
reading it. In following the author along El Camino Real 
and about the old Spanish missions, I have had glimpses 
of a fascinating life — a wholesome out-door living — that 
have driven other things from my mind, while his experi- 
ences with maurauding Indians and in pursuit of big game 
make one anxious to share the excitement with him. 

But it has not been merely because of the fascination, the 
humorous situations and the interesting characters that I 
have enjoyed the perusal of these pages; they have deeper 
interest. Years ago, on first entering Magdalena Bay, I 
was impressed with the magnificence of that superb harbor; 
in March, 1908, anchoring there with the fleet, I realized 
more than ever its prospective Importance. But I could 
merely look at the grim shores from the deck of the Con- 
necticut and wonder, as I had done before, what might lie 

7 



8 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

inland. In these pages, however, one learns — and it is a 
knowledge worth having — of the whole territory in an inti- 
mate and agreeable fashion, the author having ventured 
across and up and down the entire California Peninsula : 
it is, therefore, a pleasure for me to link, by this introduc- 
tion, my Lower California associations with Mr. North's 
adventures in the romantic "Land of Magdalena Bay." 

R. D. Evans, 
Rear Admiral U. S. N. 

Lake Mohonk, New York. 



AUTHOR'S PREFACE 

If when writing the closing chapter of this volume I 
could have looked ahead, reading in the future that a year 
and a half must intervene before final revision, such pros- 
pective delay would have been almost incomprehensible to 
me. And yet you who peruse these pages may smilingly 
understand how their author might turn abruptly from con- 
ventional life, seeking anew the fascination of the frontier. 

"Yes, they're wanting me, they're haunting me, the awful 

lonely places; 
They're whining and they're whispering as if each had a 

soul. 
And now they're all a-crying and it's no use me denying. 
The spell of them is on me and I'm helpless as a child. 
My heart is aching, aching, but I hear them sleeping, waking ; 
It's the Lure of little Voices; it's the mandate of the Wild. 
There's a whisper in the night wind, there's a star agleam to 

guide us. 
And the wild is calling . . . . let us go." 

— Service. 

How can a wanderer withstand such pleadings I 
Now that I write again the year and a half seem good. 
Neither a shoulder doubly fractured in the Rockies, nor a 
lesser accident in the Arizona canyons count in the summing 

9 



lo CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

up. Life is invariably good; provided the trail to the wil- 
derness lies open. And if these pages can bring to their 
readers — particularly to those who craving the charm of the 
wilds and the thrill of adventure yet may not wander from 
fireside or desk — a share in the keen delight, the rare exhila- 
ration of the succeeding months of out-door living therein 
outlined, then to the writer this work, though delayed, was 
well worth the doing. 

Arthur W. North. 
5^// Lake City, 

March i, igio. 



\ 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Foreword . .... . . -7 

Author's Preface . . . . . .9 



Part I. Terra Incognita 

CHAPTER 

I. A Mission and Some Indians . . .17 

11. Mountain Sheep ..... 25 

III. A Parson, a Wrong Direction and More 

Indians . . . . . .31 

IV. Uncle Sam's Lost Province ... 43 

V. Wherein I Lose My Parson and Fall In 

with Seiior Dick . . . -57 

VI. The Petroglyph Makers and Southern 

Indians ... . . .6^ 

VII. Some Final Missionary Labors and the 

Sierra C amino Real , . . -75 

VIII. Wherein I Bag Mountain Sheep and Meet 

the Laird ..... 89 

IX. With the Laird Along El C amino Real . loi 

X. The Lost Giilfo Camino and the Cannibal 

Isle of TIburon . . . .123 

XL Into the Antelope Country . . -135 

XII. Thirst 149 

II 



1 2 CONTENTS 

Part IL The Widening of the Trail. 

XIII. Sanlgnacio? The Favored . 

XIV. Santa Rosalia, a French Municipality in 

Mexico .... 

XV. To Loreto! .... 

XVI. The Pearl Missions of the Jesuits 

XVII. A Long Forced March . 

XVIII. La Paz and Some Other Pueblos 

XIX. The Story of Magdalena Bay. 



165 

173 
189 
213 
223 

237 
247 



Part III. La Frontera Again 

XX. A Frontier Ball and Again the Sierras . 259 

XXI. The Top of the Peninsula . . .267 

XXII. Wherein I Witness a Combat Between 
Mountain Sheep, Revisit the Catarinas 
and Search for Treasure . . . 285 

XXIII. In and Out the Region of the Colorado . 297 

XXIV. The End of the Trail . . . .317 
Appendix . . . . . -323 

Bibliography 335 

Index 343 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Scene on El Camino Real . . Frontispiece 



OPPOSITE PAGE 



Upper entrance of the Arroyo Grande . . .26 

View from the north slope of San Pedro, Martir 
Sierra, toward Colentura Arroyo, where Walker 
led his Filibusters . . . . .28 

A cavalcade of Easter worshippers ... 30 

Petroglyphs . . . . . . .66 

(a) Stone glass (San Pedro Martir Sierra). 

(b) Pine trees (San Pedro Martir Sierra). 

(c) Arroyo Grande Petroglyphs. 

(d) San Fernando Petroglyphs. 

The aged Cochimi of Santa Gertrudls . . .72 

The author and his party leaving the ruins of Junipero 

Serra's Mission of San Fernando de Velicata . 80 

The ancient Sierra Camino Real, leading to the one- 
time Jesuit Mission of Santa Maria . . 86 

The Aqua de Youbia . . . . .104 

A rocky section of El Camino Real . . . 104 

(Reproduced from "The Mother of Cahfornia," by courtesy of the 
Publishers, Paul Elder & Company 

An unprepossessing Mestizo . . . .132 

The Mission of Santa Gertrudis . . . . 136 

Santa Rosalia . . . . . . .174 

13 



14 ILLUSTRATIONS 

Yaqui Indians at Santa Rosalia 

Ancient Jesuit Mission at Mulege; Padre Marseliano 
in foreground ..... 

The Mission of La Purisima 

The walled-up doorway of the Mission of San Jose de 
Comondu ...... 

The carved wooden Saint of San Jose de Comondu 

Ancient Mission Bells at Loreto; Sea of Cortez in the 
distance ...... 

The mother and child in the chapel at Loreto . 

Mission of San Xavier, Mission de Vigge, showing 
west entrance (to the left) 

Burros on the march ..... 

The Pithaya Pulse or "Organ Pipe" Cactus and na 
tlve cavaliers ..... 

A rare stream of water .... 

Porch of the ancient house of the Hidalgos at San 
Antonio Real ..... 

At anchor off San Jose del Cabo . 

Magdalena Bay ..... 

Ensenada ...... 

The uncharted Sierra of San Pedro Martir 

The Colonel ...... 



Part I 
TERRA INCOGNITA 



Camp and Camino in 
Lower California 

CHAPTER I 

A MISSION AND SOME INDIANS 

IT was the last day of the year 1905. With sweater, 
hunting shirt, coat and sUcker drawn close about me, 
I bent forward before the raw wind that came shriek- 
ing down from the snowy peaks of San Pedro Martir 
Sierra. With chattering teeth, I thrust my aching fingers 
deep into my pockets. The reins hung loose over the iron 
pommel of my stock saddle: my mule could keep the trail 
or not, I was too cold to care. 

And this was hot, barren, desert Baja or Lower Cali- 
fornia, land of palms and deserts and snakes, terra incog- 
nita where once missions flourished, the territory over whose 
broiling sands I had often traveled en route to equally hot, 
barren, craggy mountains where the exciting prospect of 
mountain sheep ever awaited me ! A territory in which I 
had found the heat making night the preferable time for 
travel ! 

Certainly there must be a mistake. But no, before me 
was the ever necessary canteen tied short to the saddle pom- 
mel. Yet no sound of jolting water was to be heard. The 
canteen contained a solid mass of Ice ! Each biting gust of 
the wind seemed sharper than the one preceding. I beat 
my elbows against my ribs and pressed my knees close 

17 



1 8 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

against my mule in the hope of obtaining some warmth. 
And this was Lower California weather! Heavens, I 
thought, what does any one know of this ancient, deserted, 
next-door neighbor of California ! 

Two young American friends of mine were riding some- 
where near with Juan, a Mexican ranchero, and two pack 
mules. It required no questioning to determine their state 
of frigidity. Even the mules looked at me accusingly. We 
were perhaps a hundred miles east of the Mexican pueblo 
of Ensenada and about sixty miles southwest of the mouth 
of the Colorado River. We had come through a moun- 
tainous region which opened into a grease-wood covered 
stretch of land that strongly reminded me of the Coconino 
Basin near the Grand Caiion of the Colorado. 

Suddenly Cabeza de Vaca stopped abruptly and looked 
to the east. Cabeza is a powerful, fine-looking, buck-skin 
mule ; stumbling is a frailty of which his zebra-striped legs 
have no knowledge. His name he acquired by gift from 
me, his temporary master. It is certainly a fitting name, 
for Alvarez Nunez, Cabeza de Vaca, was one of the great- 
est of Spanish wanderers, and this clean-limbed buck-skin 
is expected to carry me over a couple of thousand miles of 
rugged exploration. I followed Cabeza's glance and saw a 
black horse, a bay colt and a black dog strung out in line 
following an Indian along a trail that promised soon to 
unite with ours. My spurs urged on my steed and we joined 
the dark company. The Indian proved to be a Catarina 
Yuma, an ex-chief of the tribe, as I was to learn later. He 
was on his way to his home, a mile farther to the southeast. 
From this information, gleaned through my poor Spanish, 
I knew that we were near the old Dominican Mission of 
Santa Catarina de los Yumas — and, also, near the rancheria 
of the worst of the Peninsula Indians. 

I studied the man. He was doubtless in his fifties, a wiry, 



A MISSION AND SOME INDIANS 19 

pleasant-faced, copper-hued hunter. On his shoulder he 
carried a muzzle-loading shot-gun, an ancient weapon. He 
wore a broad-brimmed sombrero of felt, a grey serapa, or 
blanket, drawn close about his shoulders, and a thread-bare 
pair of faded overalls. Although raw-hide guarachas or 
sandals protected the soles of his feet from thorns, his feet 
and ankles were left uncovered and exposed to the cold. 
He would neither speak in nor respond to English, which 
fact is, however, no proof that an Indian does not under- 
stand that language. In response to a question in Spanish 
from Juan, he stated that his father had lived at the mis- 
sion in the days of the Frailes, or Friars, and that the holy 
men were hard taskmasters, frequently tying the Indians to 
trees and giving them twenty-five lashes on the back in pun- 
ishment for refusal to work. A true statement, perhaps, 
though I could see no trees. 

Our party advanced in the wake of the Indian and his 
animals. Juan, though an exceptionally well informed resi- 
dent of the country, could give us little information con- 
cerning either the mission or the Indians we were approach- 
ing. The former, he believed, had been the scene of much 
trouble; of course there was a rich ledge of ore somewhere 
near It, for all the missions were near good mines — only 
It Is usually impossible to locate the ledges. A dozen years 
ago, he said, at the time of his last visit to the mission, he 
had found the metal handles of an ancient Spanish chest 
and had seen an excavation In the mission ruins where a 
lucky Sonora man, on the previous day, had found a chest 
of burled treasure; all the missions had burled treasure — 
only it is usually Impossible to locate the hiding places. Of 
the history of the mission he knew nothing; during the ex- 
citement over the gold placers at Alamo, near by, many 
strangers had visited Santa Catarlna, but even they had 
seemed Ignorant of mission records and traditions. The 



20 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

Indians? They had always been bad Indians, ladrones 
(robbers), and even worse; It would not be well for us to 
remain long near their rancheria. 

Coming down over the brow of a hill, we entered a lonely 
valley, set away In the grim mountains which rose In 
rougher and higher ridges beyond and to the southeast of 
us. Of ruins we could see nothing. Barking dogs, how- 
ever, drew our attention to several Indian shacks at the 
further side of the valley and to one, more striking than 
the others, crowning the crest of a small circular knoll im- 
mediately below us. To this latter shack our guide directed 
his steps. We turned to the left; a furlong brought us to 
the mission ruins, lying on a slight eminence overlooking 
the valley. There was little enough to see : mere earthen 
outlines rising from a foot to a yard above the surface, 
tracings of what once, however, had been a considerable 
adobe fort with bastions at the corners and apartments built 
against the walls and opening Into the central square or 
patio. The anger and cupidity of predatory Indians and 
the force of the elements had doubtless begun the destruc- 
tion and the avarice of treasure hunters had thoroughly 
completed it. Disappointed, we rode down to our new 
friend's shack. 

Several Catarina Yumas came out to meet us: the men 
armed with bows and arrows and muzzle-loading shot-guns, 
the women bedaubed with red and blue paint. In spite of 
this uncouth ornamentation, one of the young girls, Anita 
by name, was decidedly pretty. She was the grand-daugh- 
ter of our friend and, with him, was about to pose before 
my camera when an interfering old squaw rushed out of the 
shack and protested, nor would offers of tobacco and sugar 
pacify her. So bidding the Yumas good-bye, for the day 
was well advanced, we rode away and made camp by a 
water-hole a full league down the valley, a sufficient distance 



A MISSION AND SOME INDIANS 21 

to satisfy Juan, who had his doubts of the Indians. From 
the different shacks we saw, I should judge there were as 
many as seventy or eighty of the tribe, women and children 
included. 

That evening, before the camp-fire, my mind wandered 
over such history concerning the Mission of Santa Catarina 
de los Yumas as I had at various times picked up from 
Lower California records and mission chronicles and in 
odd corners. While old "Mad Anthony" Wayne was 
thrashing the rebellious Indians out in the region that later 
became the President-producing State of Ohio, Governor 
Arrilllga, then Spanish ruler of Baja California, was ex- 
ploring this country, that is still a wilderness, in search 
of a place where he could establish a mission and a presidio 
to serve as a base for more extended operations. Imme- 
diately thereafter the Dominican Frailes, Tomas Valdellon 
and Jose Llorente, founded the desired mission, giving it 
the name of Santa Catarina de los Yumas. This was in 
1797. At that time there were fifteen hundred Indians 
about Santa Catarina ; they were never peaceful. Even the 
gentle process of shipping some of the fiercer families to 
the south and substituting neophytes from other missions 
was of no avail. Again and again the Indians revolted 
against the control of the missionaries. Finally, in about 
1 840, they killed or drove away the last Fraile and set fire 
to so much of the mission as would burn. Santa Catarina 
was the last of the long list of clerical foundations estab- 
lished in Lower California. 

To an American the most interesting feature of this mis- 
sion lies in the fact that here, in 1827, came James O. 
Pattie, the first if not the only American to visit this portion 
of the Peninsula and leave any record of his journey. Pat- 
tie was a Kentuckian; in company with his father and sev- 
eral other American frontiersmen, he had trapped beaver 



2 2 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

along the Colorado River, then wandered inland from the 
head of the Gulf of California, enduring frightful hard- 
ships; finally, the party chanced upon Santa Catarina Mis- 
sion, though the discovery did not end their troubles. Close 
in the wake of the Patties came the fur traders, linking 
El Camino Real with the Sierra trail of the Hudson Bay 
trappers. 

While pictures of the past unfolded before my mind, my 
two friends, crowded warmly near me, slumbered deeply 
and Juan, in a mass of blankets, was fast asleep under 
a protecting clump of brush close by; and the fire had 
burned low. The sharp night air recalled me to the pres- 
ent, and hastily piling wood on the coals, I plunged into 
the blankets and fell asleep. But the coyote chorus had 
made sleep difficult for a week past and this particular night 
It seemed as though the puppies from forty kennels had 
surrounded our camp with the firm Intention of testing their 
lungs; for coyote "yipping" resembles the whimpering of 
many puppies rather than the efforts of a serious minded 
dog. What with this disturbing chorus, the extreme cold, 
and my vain efforts to keep a fire burning, the long hours 
brought me slight repose. At midnight, I plainly heard the 
rush of many hurrying feet to the neighboring water-hole, 
the whinneying of horses and the half-suppressed oaths of 
vaqueros. At daylight, to our consternation we found that 
all our animals, save a lone riding mule tied close to camp, 
were gone. 

With one man guarding camp, the rest of us made search 
for the strays. I was five miles to the east, trying to hold 
my carbine In numb fingers, when the snow came down 
bllndlngly. At the same time I discovered that the tracks, 
which I had been following, belonged to a bunch of strange 
mules. With the snow in my eyes and brush and cacti hin- 
dering my advance, it was no play finding camp, but when 



A MISSION AND SOME INDIANS 23] 

I staggered In, chilled and bleeding, I learned from my 
companions that all the animals had been located, except 
Cabeza. The poor creatures, fresh from the lowlands, had 
kept moving throughout the night, despite their hobbles, in 
frenzied effort to avoid freezing. 

Late in the afternoon we secured the lost one. After 
stampeding our animals in the night the Catarinas had cut 
out Cabeza from the bunch, obliterated his tracks by haul- 
ing brush over them, led him a distance through a brook 
and finally driven him, with three of their own, to a brushy 
hiding place in the rear of one of their shacks, where they 
carefully tied him; one of the Indians, armed with an old 
.44 caliber rifle, had mounted guard while the others took 
turns watching our movements. But Juan, versed in the 
lore of trails, was not long deceived by these artifices, and, 
following close in his wake, we took Cabeza and asked no 
questions. Whether the Indians were bent on theft, or 
were scheming to hold the mule until we should offer five 
pesos (dollars) for their assistance in finding him, were 
questions we did not try to decide. After all, there was 
some sense in lugging about the mighty six-shooters which 
we had strapped on after leaving Ensenada — and I am quite 
sure that the old Frailes knew what they were about when 
they tied the Catarinas to trees, — even if the "trees" were 
thorny shrubs, — and walloped 'em. A few lusty wallops 
these days would be improving. 

That night we spent in the same camp, though the falling 
snow had changed its appearance. The following day the 
earth was well covered; Juan, who was half sick, grumbled 
his Mexican dislike of the cold; one of my friends sug- 
gested sending to the High Sierras of Upper California for 
snow skis and the other rallied me about bringing them 
Into tropical Lower California. The maguay plants, the 
chollas, ocotlllas, tunas and all the rest of the cacti family 



24 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

seemed to eye us from their untropical drapery with resent- 
ful expressions. We broke camp in the early morning light 
and took a southeasterly course. In order to keep active 
our circulations, we soon found it necessary to dismount 
and proceed on foot. The jack rabbits, also, considered it 
advisable to keep on the move. In sixteen minutes along a 
single stretch of mesa land, I counted twenty-six of these 
long-eared fellows. At Alamitos (Little Cottonwoods), a 
small water-hole, the ice was so thick that our thirsty mules 
were at a loss as to how to obtain a drink until one of them, 
a jaunty little animal, suddenly smashed in the ice before 
her with quick stamps of her forefeet, a shrewd procedure 
which the others promptly imitated. That ev^ening I found 
that quail which we had killed during the forenoon were 
frozen stiff so that they broke apart like brittle wood. How- 
ever, we were far from the ladrones, and in consequence 
slept peacefully, despite the cold. 

Though this proved merely my introduction to the Cata- 
rina Yumas, intervening adventures must be narrated be- 
fore I relate my subsequent experiences at their rancheria. 



CHAPTER II 

MOUNTAIN SHEEP.* 

LATE one afternoon, a week after our New Year's 
Day experience with the Yumas, Juan and the 
youngest of our party were high up among the 
mountain peaks while Lawrence, my other compatriot, and 
I were riding along the sandy floor of an immense arroyo. 
In places the surface glistened in unbroken whiteness, then 
again pale desert pines, thorny mesquit and verdant palo 
verde rose from the sandy bed, making fair gathering places 
for great flocks both of the valley quail and their dove-col- 
ored desert cousins. But our eyes gave small heed to these 
immediate surroundings; they were raised to the lofty red 
and copper colored ridges that rose sheer above either side 
of the floor of the arroyo. Lawrence was mounted on 
Pedro Ximenez. Cabeza de Vaca bore me along and we 
gave our steeds their heads. We were desperately anxious 
for the sight of mountain sheep and our attention was not 
to be wasted on anything else. 

Students of natural history, wise hunters, and close ob- 
servers of museum specimens will smile when I state that 
the southern big horn or mountain sheep has no wool and 
is not white. Nevertheless, I make the direct statement 
for the benefit of those not coming under any of the above 
classes, for I have not forgotten how, on my first hunt for 
mountain sheep, I searched the surrounding cliffs for a 
woolly white animal with big curling horns, and how, when 

* Reproduced, in part, from the Sunset Magazine of October, 1907. 

25 



26 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

I finally saw a light dun-colored creature, I would have al- 
lowed it to escape as a deer that was in too steep a place to 
bother with had not its immense curling horns suddenly 
come into view. And why not? Do not all ordinary, re- 
spectable sheep have wool? And aren't they white? 

For several hours we had ridden along with no sight of 
our quarry. Once, I exclaimed at sight of what seemed 
to be a man standing on a jagged peak, a half mile above 
us, but the "man" shufflled uneasily, then spreading out a 
pair of giant wings floated majestically away, advising our 
astonished eyes that we were in the land of the mighty 
condor. Other than this we had advanced with no incident 
or sound save the dull steady break of the sand beneath 
the small feet of our mules. Cabeza kept me in the lead, 
perhaps fifty steps or more, and I, forgetting even to scan 
the cliffs, was feeling compunction because my companion 
had ventured hundreds of miles, at my suggestion, in the 
hope of killing a big horn, and a week's hard hunting had 
not even given him a sight of one. 

"Look, look! On the ridge to the left." 

I looked, and slid over the right side of my saddle, haul- 
ing my carbine from its saddle scabbard as I went and 
jerking loose Cabeza's hair picket-rope. My meditations 
were ended. Silhouetted against the sky-line, a mountain 
sheep was ambling peaceably along the distant ridge. 

As my companion's sharp eyes had discovered the game, 
I waited until his big .40-.82 had said the first word; then 
I turned loose with my .30-. 30. Mr. Ram paused and 
gazed in questioning attitude down at us, then calmly con- 
tinued his business of going somewhere. As though an- 
gered at such uncomplimentary composure our rifles barked 
sharply in unison, but our target seemed in nowise disturbed 
thereat. Where were our bullets striking? I wondered, 
taking a long aim and figuring the distance at something 




Upper entrance to Arroyo Grande 



MOUNTAIN SHEEP 27 

less than four hundred yards. I blazed away and heard 
the .40-.82 at my left sending out its message. Again the 
ram paused, gazing fixedly into the distance before him. 
Such unconcern! Suddenly the outlined figure, the curling 
horns, the back-line and the design of the legs — for all the 
world like pen and Ink strokes against the sky, struck me as 
ridiculously like one of Gellett Burgess's "goups" and I 
burst out laughing. Were we shooting at an animated 
"goup"? 

At this stage Lawrence swore, I believe. Don't blame 
him either, If he did, for his big rifle, sighted for five hun- 
dred yards, had thrown up the loose earth ten feet below 
the big-horn. With the rising of the slight puff of dust, 
the sky-line swallowed up our target and the whole experi- 
ence might have been a dream except for two neat little 
piles of empty rifle cartridges, fifteen in all, for which we 
were responsible. 

We rode on strangely cheered and expectant — and rally- 
ing ourselves. 

An hour later my companion's voice again aroused me; 
this time it was hoarse with excitement. 

"G-glor-ry," he cried, "look to the right!" 

I looked, and as long as hunting blood flows in my veins 
I shall not forget the thrilling sight I saw. There, on a 
spur of the main ridge, assembled side by side, were three — . 
four — seven big mountain sheep, their great ram heads in- 
clined shghtly sidewlse as they curiously studied us. 

"On, quick, to that mesqult ahead! Don't stop, don't let 
them know that we see them," I continued, turning half In 
the saddle so that my voice would carry, in an undertone, 
to my companion a hundred steps back of me. 

A slowly passing moment brought us to cover in the 
middle of the arroyo. In an instant I was stretched on the 
sand, behind the mesqult, carbine in hand. Then Lawrence 



28 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

crouched by me. There was neither laughing nor swearing 
now: wondering admiration, tense excitement, cold steadi- 
ness, too, if you please. Appreciation of the moment came 
to us both: rarely is it given one to watch, face to face, the 
mountain sheep in his wild home. There they stood; they 
had seen us, they were disturbed, yet they remained im- 
movable, statuesque, seven great rams. 

"Oh, Lord! Look at that giant to the right." 

"Yes, and see the middle fellow," I gasped back. 

"See 'em all," responded Lawrence. 

I glanced down my rifle barrel. The light was failing 
and I could just see the great rams over my white bead. 

"The middle one Is mine," I muttered, "you can take 
your whopper at the right." 

We stretched out at ease on the sand and with left fore- 
arms raised, gripped firmly our rifle barrels and looked 
through their rear sights. 

"I can hardly see," whispered my companion doubtfully, 
"and if we miss, they'll slide over that ridge at the first shot 
and be off. Suppose we camp here until morning and then 
creep 'round that ridge and bag 'em?" 

The light was beastly dim and there was good sense In 
my phlegmatic companion's suggestion. Left to myself, 
doubtless I would have blazed away and missed. Full fifteen 
minutes the sheep stood motionless before us, a noble sight 
for anyone, sportsman or not; great Independent creatures 
limned against the shadowy sky-line, watching, doubting. 
Then suddenly their leader, the big ram at the right, gave 
his command and with the precision of a cavalry squadron, 
all wheeled about. In their retreat showing their white 
rumps and crowding together like an alarmed flock of 
domestic sheep. 

Seven big mountain sheep just over the ridge from us. 
Seven big rams to sleep with just a ridge between them and 





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MOUNTAIN SHEEP 29 

our rifles, and in the morning — Quietly we unsaddled and 
tied our mules to a palo verde ; in great content they began 
nibbling the brittle branches. Silently we each ate a piece 
of hard-tack. 

"Lawrence, I shall not kill over two of them. I'm no 
butcher." 

"Two are all I want." 

We stretched on the sand and pulled our saddle blank- 
ets over us. It was only 6:15 P.M., but there was nothing 
to do. 

"Say, do you know that William Walker led his filibus- 
ters down this arroyo on his way to Sonora in 1854?" 

"Seven big rams — " 

"And do you know," I continued perseveringly, "that 
there are ancient hieroglyphics near here made by somij 
prehistoric people?" 

"Seven big rams and a giant at the right — " 

We found sleep, eventually. I dreamed that I was the 
seventh son of a seventh son and was driving seven moun- 
tain rams into a corral built in the White House grounds. 
Then it was the gray half light of morning and two coyotes, 
sitting on their haunches a few yards distant, were quietly 
surveying us. I poked Lawrence and he murmured, 
sleepily, 

"Well, well, seven big rams and a giant — " 

But search as we might we never again saw those seven 
big rams. However, that evening at camp we partook of 
mountain sheep. Juan and the youngest member of our 
party, had had their overnight experiences, too. Said the 
succesful one: 

"Juan was tracking and I was admiring the world when 
I saw a whole barn-yard of sheep — fifteen! Say, I counted 
them straight, too. I pulled up my rifle, forgot about my 
rear sights, aimed at the whole bunch and missed 'em all — 



30 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

and kept on missing about seven times. Then we turned off 
in another direction and by-and-by we saw another barn- 
yard full and I got this ram. Juan and I cooked and ate a 
piece right away. It's a cross between a juicy mutton chop 
and a fine thick porterhouse steak. Have a hunk — you 
fellows look blue." 










u 

> 
U 

< 



CHAPTER III 

A PARSON, A WRONG DIRECTION AND MORE INDIANS 

ON the 22nd day of January, 1906, just a month after 
our entry into Mexico, I regretfully bade my 
American friends good-bye. The rounds of busi- 
ness in northern civilization demanded their attention; the 
southern wilderness claimed mine. Accordingly, the sheep 
hunt concluded, we parted at the little mining pueblo of 
Alamo, ten miles west of Santa Catarina Mission. 

As they spurred northward, the faithful Juan riding in 
the lead, the chill of utter isolation fell upon me : there, 
passing from sight, were all my companions and even the 
familiar mules, excepting the smallest in the train, the 
usually impassive Pedro Ximenes. Tied to a post, the poor 
brute was now braying disconsolately. Lonely and depressed, 
I at once turned my attention exclusively to the work before 
me, the wisest course for anyone in such a frame of mind. 
Obviously, pack animals and a muleteer were my first re- 
quirements. Accordingly, I proceeded to make general in- 
quiry for three burros and a man, for with burros rather 
than valuable mules I trusted to escape the avaricious atten- 
tion of such as might not be possessed of a law-abiding ap- 
preciation of the rights of property. As the news spread 
that the Americano was desirous of purchasing for cash 
three large burros and engaging a mozo to journey with him 
down the length of the Peninsula, Alamo rippled with ex- 
citement. Every Mexican in the pueblo at once offered me 
some wonderful animal at a more wonderful figure, and 

31 



32 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

several expressed a willingness to receive wages from me. 
Finally an array of burros and burro men assembled about 
the inevitable plaza and with an American parson, an Eng- 
lish "remittance man," and an Italian merchant, acting as 
judges at what the Englishman facetiously called my "burro 
show," I picked out a fine young gray burro, shortly christ- 
ened Cortez, and a sharp-eyed brown wood-carrier. This 
latter chap I made my bell burro and named Coronado. 
My judges had pointed out the strong points of these bur- 
ros; let him who would be possessed of a good burro keep 
them in mind, viz.: no obvious tendencies toward balking, 
backs covered by unbroken hides and thick hair, good teeth, 
sturdy shoulders, stocky build, and long hoofs — for, burros 
being unshod, the short-hoofed fellows soon become tender- 
footed. 

Meantime, and in short order, I engaged successively an 
Italian and three Mexicans to serve as my mozo. The 
Italian and two of the Mexicans grew faint-hearted at the 
prospective dangers of the trip and the third Mexican was 
restrained from departing by his creditors. Then the 
American parson of my "burro show," a Texan of some 
thirty years of age, came to my rescue. He gave his name 
as "Ben" and stated that he would be glad to enter my ser- 
vice for three months. By way of references he explained 
that while he had passed his early life as a clergyman in 
Texas, for the past seven years he had been a muleteer In 
Chihuahua and Sonora. As there was no question about 
his being "up" on burros, I engaged him on the spot, though 
the prospect of having a parson in steady service seemed a 
trifle novel. I did not pry into his reasons for leaving his 
pastorate, such questions not being polite near the Border. 

In fact. In the midst of my search for a man, a tall Irish- 
man took me aside and, In an undertone, said that he would 
be glad to make the trip, provided the wages be raised 



A PARSON AND A WRONG DIRECTION 33 

somewhat. "Quite easy for you, sir," he parenthesized; 
and then, with a look of cunning appreciation, continued, 
"It's the ridge trail that I can show you, and down that 
we can slip widout maten' a sowl. Sure," and here he gave 
a wink, "you've heard of Brown, the Los Angeles cashier! 
Well, 'twas me that took him safely trou to the port of 
Santa Rosali', where he got a ship, an' I can pull you trou 
over the same route." Respectfully declining this kindly 
offer, I took up with my parson. By the way In which he 
hustled about and secured for me two pack-saddles with 
accompanying harness and alforcas (raw-hide panniers), I 
am convinced that "Ben's" parishioners must have taken 
pride In his energy. To me it was a great delight after the 
dilatory manner of the natives. One stout, ragged looking 
Mexican whom I endeavored to engage to make a harness 
for one of my pack-saddles, calmly gave his half-rolled 
cigarette an added twist, leaned back against his adobe and 
soberly remarked that he "didn't have the time." Un- 
questionably, the Mexican eight-hour law provides that 
every able-bodied man shall desist from labor eight hours 
In the middle of every day! 

"Ben" was very anxious to be upon the trail. So was I. 
At his suggestion, in place of delaying until I could secure a 
third burro for him to ride, we postponed that matter until 
a convenient burro ranch came in our way. Accordingly, 
leaving Alamo at noon of the 22nd, we climbed into the 
chemise-clad mountains at the south, being attended, through 
the courtesy of the Correo or Postmaster of Alamo, by a 
Mexican horseman as temporary guide. Half a league 
brought us to a high ridge where the Mexican left us, after 
pointing In a due southerly direction and exclaiming "Sur, 
sur." The man was quite picturesque and gave his direc- 
tions In a dramatic manner. It had seemed to me that 
southwest was more nearly the proper course for us, but 



34 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

the positive "Sur, sur" was convincing and southward we 
turned, following the trail down a steep slope and through 
a succession of small valleys where the heavy growth of 
grass, the delightful red berries, the fine live-oaks, the dense 
chemise, the scurrying flocks of quail and the frequent deer 
tracks took my thoughts back to similar scenes in those 
northern mountains made familiar to all by Stevenson's 
^'Silverado Squatters." 

On the ensuing day, to our regret, we left a fairly good 
trail bearing southwesterly, doubtless to the olive-shaded 
ruins of the old Dominican Mission of Santo Tomas de 
Aquina, and followed a fainter trail which led In the south- 
erly direction Indicated by the Mexican. Our course, after 
taking us Into lofty mountains from which we could see the 
distant ocean to the westward, led down abruptly to a deep 
canyon where there was an old shack, thatched with tule 
grass, and other evidences of by-gone Indian occupation. 
A goodly stream of water headed near the shack, and fol- 
lowing along the stream for a league we made camp In an 
old brush corral, shaded by a noble group of live-oaks and 
sycamores. The grass was thick and the spot Ideal for 
camping. In addition to his ministerial experiences, "Ben" 
had cooked at one time In a restaurant from which he had 
been Invited to sever his connections because of the amount 
of fuel which he persisted In burning. Though such ex- 
travagant habits would have been as reprehensible on the 
desert as in the restaurant, they were not objectionable In 
the corral, where for many seasons the dead limbs had been 
falling in undisturbed heaps. His cooking operations. In 
consequence, succeeded admirably. One great bonfire threw 
Its reflections upon the sides of the deep canyon, while over 
a smaller fire most appetizing dishes simmered and broiled 
to the delight of our anxious appetites. Even when sleep 
claimed us, a willow tripod arrangement of "Ben's" manu- 



A PARSON AND A WRONG DIRECTION 35 

facture held suspended above the coals a slow boiling pot 
of beans. Quite undisturbed by the fact that we knew not 
just where we were, we slept soundly and entirely without 
forebodings for the morrow. 

On the 24th we continued down the arroyo, passing an- 
other deserted corral and arriving shortly at a junction of 
two canyons below which the walls of the main canyon be- 
came extremely precipitous, while the stream pursued its 
course over a rocky bed which dropped in places in such a 
manner as to render the course impassable for our animals. 
To our delight we found horse tracks leading high up to 
the left. These we followed. Whoever guided that horse 
must have partaken of the loco weed or have carried under 
his belt a large amount of mescal, for the tracks led us 
through the densest chemise and deep down the most appal- 
ling declivities. 

For a day and a half, each time that I had looked from 
the height of Pedro Xlmenez, back upon my brave train 
of pack burros, with Coronado's bell tinkling so cheerfully 
and with Ben trudging along in the wake of the proces- 
sion, my heart had throbbed with all the pride of a railway 
magnate watching his express trains whizzing along their 
double track road-beds. Now I passed through the anxie- 
ties of a railway president In flood season or In time of 
rebate Investigation. Again and again the alforcas caught 
in the brush and the burros were "hung up," to the detri- 
ment of Ben's anti-swearing resolutions, for that worthy, 
having, on the first day, observed my swearing proclivities 
were not keen, had announced his determination to return 
to the pious language employed In the days of his pastorate 
in southwestern Texas. Eventually, Coronado slipped and 
fell, not through any fault of his, but because he was urged 
over a precipice and there overbalanced by his load. Gather- 
ing his small feet close to his body, down he rolled, to the 



36 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

bottom of the gorge, a hundred feet below, striking with a 
dull thud that sent shivers through me at the thought of 
broken bones and ruined impedimenta. Yet, after I had 
extricated him from his tangled pack, he arose, with a grunt, 
and calmly commenced cropping the sedge grass — but, for 
all his calmness, I think he was rather vexed at us. 

Ben and I stood on either side of the burro and looked up 
at the precipices about us. We were in a box canyon where 
we seemed buried and so discouraged did we feel that we 
fell to and ate a good lunch, an excellent way of restoring 
a man's grit and Increasing his resourcefulness. In this 
case we found our dismay perceptibly lessened and, by the 
aid of ropes, shortly hauled Coronado up the further side 
of the gorge. 

On we went for three Intense hours, breaking and hack- 
ing a course for our animals through the dense brush, avoid- 
ing choUas and Spanish bayonets, our eyes on the burros or 
searching In the dead leaves for tracks of that horse. Rid- 
ing was out of the question ; I was on foot cutting and smash- 
ing a way for the animals and Ben was busied In widening 
the passage for the packs. The scenery probably was grand 
— the plain at Alamo is reputed to be 4,900 feet above the 
sea level, and we had climbed to a much greater altitude, but 
I had no time for scenery. Cortez took his turn at rolling, 
then, In company with Coronado he was "hung up" In the 
brush. A jagged limb ripped Into my forearm, breaking off 
by the side of an artery, where I dared not extricate It for 
the moment; I jammed my knee against the thorny ex- 
tremity of a maguay leaf, which left a persistent throbbing 
pain In the knee-cap as a consequence. Neither of us had 
anything to say, but we both felt desperate, and it would 
have gone hard with the Mexican who gave us directions 
had he fallen In our way. 

Meantime, the tracks led higher up Into the sierras, the 



J 



A PARSON AND A WRONG DIRECTION 37 

brush giving way to great white granite boulders. At last, 
as the sun was setting and our spirits deeply depressed, we 
came upon the fairest scenery : a plain well-used trail! Down 
this we joyfully turned, descending toward the southwest. 
Hundreds of years and thousands of feet must have passed 
over that trail, for It was worn deep into the granite body of 
the mountain; in one place where I experimented with a 
tape, the trail was thirty-eight inches deep in the rock. 
Exhilarated in spite of our thorough exhaustion, we hurried 
on, noting tracks of a lion mingled with those of barefooted 
Indians. Finally we again came upon our water-course, 
now grown wider, and following it for a couple of miles, 
made camp on the sand with heavy darkness round about. 
We were both badly used up. My arms and knee ached 
acutely, and Ben also was subject for my medicine case, with 
its liniments and rolls of bandages. In addition, beyond 
the fact that we were among the spurs of San Pedro Martir 
Sierra, we did not know where we were. We had every 
reason to believe, however, that we were in the neighbor- 
hood of some Indian rancheria, though of the possible atti- 
tude of its inhabitants toward us in such an unchartered 
end of the world we were rather dubious. 

On the morning of the 25th we were so stiff that only 
our hearty constitutions enabled us to move forward. Dur- 
ing the night a lion had come down to inspect us, marking 
up the sand with his great claws within twenty paces of 
camp, for, owing to the probable proximity of Indians, we 
had kept no camp fire burning. Continuing down the stream, 
we shortly crossed a small irrigating ditch, and beyond, 
upon a sandy bench of perhaps four acres, we cam.e abruptly 
upon an Indian village. 

As there are no complete maps or reports of the Interior 
of Lower California, and as the reputations of the unvlsited 
places are in nerve-racking accord with the mystery hanging 



38 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

over the entire peninsula, an exciting element of Lower Cali- 
fornia exploration exists in the fact that the explorer never 
knows what he may find at any turn of an arroyo — and it 
is a land of arroyos ! In this instance, I found myself sud- 
denly face to face with an Indian rancheria of half a dozen 
shacks and some fifty people, and what treatment to expect 
was beyond me, for I had never so much as heard of the 
existence of an Indian village in this particular region. 

The bucks, garbed In a doubtful assortment of tatters, 
were lounging about at their ease, conversing with an Indian 
traveler, who was outward bound with two pack burros, 
laden with wild honey. The women were squatting on the 
ground before metate stones, a few crushing corn, but the 
majority reducing to powder a small black seed, the like 
of which Is usually to be found In the crops of wild doves. 
Children were playing about in absolute nakedness, the boys 
practicing with stout bows and reed arrows. The babies of 
the village were In the care of the young girls, who carried 
them at their sides, the youngsters clinging, with mussy 
hands and straddling legs, to their comely foster mothers. 
They were a healthy, husky looking race of people, not 
unlike the Catarlna Yumas in countenance but of heavier 
physique. Their shacks, also, were larger and more sub- 
stantially put together than those of my ladrone acquaint- 
ances. As to what their treatment of us would be I was 
uncertain. Ben muttered, "Look out." We proceeded to 
do so. 

The traveler, speaking In mongrel Spanish, informed us 
that they were Pais Indians (doubtless the same as the 
Pi-pis of the Salada and Colentura region at the southwest) 
and that we were the first white men who had ever come 
to the village. Though friendly in his address, he voiced 
the evident wonder of the village by inquiring how we had 
ever arrived from Alamo, coming from the direction which 



A PARSON AND A WRONG DIRECTION 39 

we had, and whether we were prospectors. Our arrival 
certainly created the confusion supposedly incident to the 
coming of first whites: the naked children were whisked 
away, the girls fled, the squaws became silent and the bucks 
looked at us with undisguised curiosity. A broad shoul- 
dered, strapping fellow, dressed in old overalls, tattered 
shirt, high peaked Spanish straw sombrero, and wearing a 
genial expression and waving Dundrearies, seemed to be 
the head man. Of him I asked permission to photograph 
the village, the traveler acting as interpreter. At first the 
big fellow seemed to think that evil lay in cameras, but 
when I showed him an Indian picture in a magazine he 
grunted a smiling assent, and entering one of the shacks 
conferred over the matter with a wizened ancient, who, 
judged by his parchment wrinkles, might have been a con- 
frere of Cortez. The ancient proved to be the head chief 
and offered no objection to picture taking. 

Meantime, the girls had reappeared with fresh coats of 
paint on their faces and bandanas coyly arranged upon their 
heads. If picture-taking was in order, they were prepared. 
To the general surprise, the ordeal consumed but an in- 
stant; then, in appreciation, I presented the big fellow with 
a cup of Scotch whiskey. This he passed over to the 
wrinkled one, who after downing all but the dregs, smacked 
his thin lips and returned the cup to his brawny understudy. 
The other bucks stood by and smiled half-heartedly as they 
watched the Scotch disappearing. They didn't get a taste ! 
Talk about regard for the aged, we civilized beings are not 
in the same class with the Pi-pis. 

Suddenly the head chief beckoned me to him. Already 
I had ostentatiously swung my heavy six-shooter into a 
prominent position and I approached him without hesita- 
tion. It seemed that my green riding bags, long the despair 
of my friends and the delight of my heart, had aroused his 



4-0 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

covetousness. Briefly he gave me to understand that the 
weather was cold and he was thin; that the trousers would 
do him much good, while at my age they were unnecessary 
— pointing, for verification, at the scantily clad young bucks 
of the village with their happy smiles, knife belts and 
guarachas. At this, the big fellow with the Dundrearies 
nodded smiling assent: It seemed time for America to re- 
treat, and with hasty adieux, I left the Pais to their own 
resources, grateful to escape with honors of war — and my 
trousers, or with my trousers and without the honors of 
war. As I put spurs to the greatly surprised Pedro Xlme- 
nez, I turned In the saddle for a last look at the rancheria. 
All that I observed was a wizened ancient, following along 
the trail. He stooped pitiably, his face was parchment 
wrinkles, his claw-like hands were clasping his withered 
thighs and In quivering tones he called after me, "so cold, 
so very cold." 

These Indians gather wild honey and raise beans, corn, 
grapes and melons from their fertile soil. Adjoining their 
village, and further down the canyon, there were signs 
which indicated that In some earlier day there had been a 
large population and many Irrigated fields along the river- 
bottom. The Dominican Friars who established the mis- 
sions about the northern portions of Lower California left 
few records of what they there found or did, but In one of 
their fragments they set forth that the Indians of San 
Vicente Mission were "unquiet, proud and fickle"; that 
those of Santo Tomas and Santa Catarlna were "quick- 
tempered, treacherous, warlike and very difficult to gov- 
ern"; that the Indians of Santa Catarlna and Santo Tomas 
belonged "to the Yuma family," and that, "In 1781 the 
Mission of San Vicente was attacked by two thousand 
Yumas from the mountains who did great Injury." As these 
Pais are within striking distance of each of these three mis- 



A PARSON AND A WRONG DIRECTION 41 

sions, perhaps in those old days they were possessed of the 
entire combination of bad qualities named. At the time of 
my visit, however, they called their rancheria Dolores and 
were preparing — men, women and children — to take a long 
trip through the mountains to attend Mass at Santa Cata- 
rina Mission. 

One primitive Indian whom we met below the village — 
he wore a coat and a belt and carried his guarachas in his 
hand — explained that, according to the customs of the Pais, 
a buck could have as many squaws as he desired, but that 
one squaw could do the requisite work and raise nine chil- 
dren, which was a sufficient family in these days. Talk 
about race suicide ! This chap carried an ancient repeating 
rifle, which, as he told us, had suffered eleven distinct breaks 
in falling over a cliff and beneath a pack animal. It could 
only be discharged after wiring tightly in place all its parts. 
In consequence, this red man was hunting with a single cart- 
ridge in the barrel, and the lever and magazine wired fast 
to the barrel and stock. Probably, however, that single cart- 
ridge sufficed for the killing of a deer — or of some wander- 
ing beef, for I was later informed that the Pais were sad 
ladrones with a penchant for other people's cattle. 

Learning from the hunter of the whereabouts of an agua 
caliente or hot spring, we hastened on, passing wonderful 
patches of wild clover and dense masses of pussy willow. 
By nightfall we reached the spring. According to our in- 
formant, who with other Indians of the rancheria was a 
stout Christian — and had in his shack some china marked 
"I. H. S." — this agua caliente though now little used, had 
been a favorite spot of the old Frailes. Certainly, some- 
body in olden times had protected the spring with a well- 
built stone coping, fifty feet by ten, but sedges and tule grass 
had overgrown all save a nice clear pool, ten feet by six, 



42 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

and wild clover ran down to the edge. Such a camping 
spot! 

While Ben exercised his culinary arts before a large fire 
in the shadows of the cottonwoods, I tumbled into the wel- 
come spring and came forth leaving behind me pains and 
stiffness, dust and choUa thorns. Reclining on the yielding 
clover, before the companionable fire, a savory supper 
awaiting my keen appetite, close at hand a reliable Indian 
trail for the morrow, a contentment stole over me unknown 
in the narrow life against which I had become an insurgent. 
What cared I even though directions had been misleading 
and Indians numerous I 



CHAPTER IV 

UNCLE SAM's lost PROVINCE 

THERE is a pathos in the ruins of past splendor which 
casts a shadow over the spirit of the traveler, 
bringing a sobering sense of the transitory works 
of man. Unconsciously, I gave myself completely to this 
feeling as I sat in the shade of the casa of the Seiior of the 
Rancho of San Vicente late one January afternoon a few 
short days after my visit at the Rancheria of Dolores. I 
had just come in from a stroll among the ruins of the ancient 
Mission of San Vicente and was content to dream in the 
mellow light of the dying day. 

There was food for dreams. On the summit of the green 
hill before me a Spanish fort had once frowned and thou- 
sands of Indians had vainly assaulted its walls. Now a 
squirrel crouched low in play on the ruined bastions, soldiers 
and flag were gone and the few miserable Indians in the 
hovel at the foot of the hill had welcomed the centavos 
which a passing traveler gave them. To the left of the fort 
there was once a high walled cemetery where Castilian 
officers and cowled Dominican Padres were placed at rest 
with the pomp of other days. Now the walls were 
broken, the graves fallen in, and garishly modern crosses, 
memorials to the recent dead, crowded from sight the 
neglected tombs of early dignitaries. Below the fort and to 
the right of the cemetery where, amid silent ruins, the dove 
now mourned and the raven cried discordantly, church and 
monastery and Governor's mansion had stood — structures, 

43 



44 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

some of them, full one hundred paces in length. Below 
these ruins, in the great moat-like ditch now dry, ob- 
structed, unused, shrouded by tall thickets of tuna and sugar- 
cane, there had flowed in those earlier days a stream, pre- 
cious alike for irrigation and defense. 

Here was once the capital of La Frontera, the frontier 
district. Here were swollen storehouses, broad fields, great 
herds of cattle, sheep and horses, riches that now are gone, 
like the spirits of those who controlled them, for naught re- 
mains save a few burros, horses and cattle, a small plot of 
cultivated land, watered by a feeble stream, an atmosphere 
of the past — and sombre, crumbling ruins returning, un- 
hindered, to the jealous bosom of mother earth from whence 
they came. Down at the base of the hill, where the clover 
grows, stands a sentinel group of gnarled and blackened 
olive trees, ancients guarding the ruins above — yet, when 
travellers thronged El Camino Real, these were sturdy 
trees, thick of foliage and generous of their shade. 

While my thoughts were wandering, and I yielded to the 
magic languor of the land, there came to mind the chroni- 
cles of the scribes and the traditions of my surroundings — 
and close on their heels and before my heavy eyelids, 
imagination unfolded the scenes which had been enacted at 
San Vicente in the romantic days removed so far from 
modern life. At the touch of the wand of Fancy, the ruins 
disappeared and there on the hill stood a smoke-enshrouded 
fort and just below it rose the Cross, high and clear, sur- 
mounting a noble mission. Down there, amid spreading 
tunas and young olives, I saw a cloud of red devils, be- 
daubed with war paint, decked with feathers and carrying 
bows and arrows and spears. To the right, by the river's 
curve, are more of the same ilk, for this is the year 1781 
and the Indians from the Arroyo Grande and L'Encentada, 
from San Miguel and Santo Tomas, their feuds forgotten. 



UNCLE SAM'S LOST PROVINCE 45 

have gathered to sack the sturdy young Mission of San Vi- 
cente Ferrer. 

Even as the fiendish war-whoop rings out, the scene 
changes : the flag with the eagle and the snake now floats 
over the fortress, the mission granaries have grown and the 
fields are more extensive, for nigh half a century has passed. 
There, at a stout table in the refectory, sits a strange figure, 
a bronzed young man, long and lean of frame, with high 
cheek-bones and aquiline nose, with thin lips and square jaw; 
he is dressed in frayed buckskins and his worn leggins and 
moccasins have lost many of their beads. Seated facing 
him are two Friars, dark robed and rotund. The elder of 
the Friars is speaking: "Be of good cheer, Sefior Pattie," 
he says, with a fatherly smile, "this detention is but a for- 
mality of the Commandante; he is a strange man with his 
regulations : he even desires us to take the oath of allegiance 
to his new Government." The young man half rises, ex- 
claiming, "But this formality that he imposes upon us passes 
strangeness. Ah, had not the Colorado with its devilish 
tidal current wet our powder — aye, or that treacherous dog 
at Santa Catarina not deceived us — there'd be many in 
Purgatory waiting your prayers ere we'd been prisoners." 
The younger Friar waves a soothing hand. "Prisoners and 
perhaps heretics, also, you are, but our friends, my sefior," 
says he, bringing forth a dusty wine skin, "and now over 
this bottle which is of the best port which our good brothers 
at Santa Rosalia de Mulege prepare, we will drink to Ken- 
tucky and you will tell us of those aminos of yours, Seiiors 
Bowie and David Crockett." 

The face of the frontiersman relaxes from its harassed 
look and he cries, "Aye, that I will, for as yet you are my 
friends, but first I will offer a bumper: May the Mexicans 
at San Vicente pay with their blood for the indignity which 
they have put upon us men of Kentucky." 



46 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

As the half-protesting Friars clink their glasses, the scene 
shifts : the Mission is unroofed, the fields are choked with 
weeds. Now the air is cleft by a wild, thrilling cheer that 
ends in a barking yell and a double line of tall warriors 
rushes up towards the fort, with bayonets fixed; from the 
port-holes there comes a murderous blaze of fire and many 
of the tall warriors crumple up like stalks of barley before 
a reaper: the line hesitates, and instantly the leader, a small, 
wiry man, bared rapier in hand, turns savagely upon them. 
"Oh, d — n you, d — n you, d — n, you all," he shrieks in thin 
high-pitched tones, "do you mind being killed! Dare you 
stop, dare you survive and return to Marysville, to Sacra- 
mento, to San Francisco — and admit that Greasers licked 
you? Do you want it said that mothers in Tennessee and 
Kentucky whelp white livers, mud-sills, Yanks?" He rasps 
out the last word with a bitter scream. "Yanks," that is 
what stiffens up the line. Again that wild barking yell, and 
the little man and his tall followers sweep up the hill and 
over the walls, carrying their two-starred flag into the fort- 
ress where a quarter of a century earlier Pattie of Kentucky 
was imprisoned, for this is February, 1854, and William 
Walker and his filibusters are planning the slave state of 
Lower Caliornia and Sonora. 

From these realms of other days, I rouse myself with a 
start, for the Seiior of San Vicente is standing before me 
and I feel that I have been dreaming. "Ten thousand In- 
dians gathered from the mountains once to assault the mis- 
sion over yonder" ; he has seen me staring at the ruins and 
he waves his hand toward them, "and now on the whole 
Peninsula there is not a quarter that number." I now as- 
sent, and he continues: "Once your people fought my people 
here, but your country did not approve." I assented and he 
adds, "And once Mexicans fought Mexicans near the fort, 
but I do not know what it was about." I nod a third time: 



UNCLE SAM'S LOST PROVINCE 47 

how truly his closing statement would apply to most wars? 
and then, for conversation's sake, remark, "I'm going to 
ride my mule the length of the peninsula even to San Jose 
del Cabo." 

"Si!" he exclaims in surprise, "Baja California por 
tierra." 

My Latin comes to the aid of my faulty Spanish and I 
mutter to myself, "Lower California Overland," aloud I 
say, "Si, sehor, Baja California por tierra," and shaking 
his head he murmurs, "Very far, senor, very far." Then 
he amazes me, by adding, "I have lived at beautiful San 
Jose del Cabo. There, too, you will find a site called San 
Vicente and there, as here, your people fought my people, 
only there your people were nearly overcome. But that 
battle was in a regular war." 

"Yes?" I answered, my curiosity all agog, for then I knew 
not how Uncle Sam twice lost the Peninsula of Lower Cali- 
fornia. 

Historians have an unfortunate faculty of omitting many 
interesting passages from their chronicles. Thus, in their 
accounts of the war between Mexico and the United States, 
they make no record of the Spartan-like defense of Chapul- 
tepec by the cadets of the Mexican Military Academy — 
they gave their blood, every boy of them, in heroic sacrifice 
to their country. Neither do the chroniclers mention the 
fierce engagements in Lower California between the United 
States Marines and the New York Volunteers on the one 
side and the native Californians and their Yaqui allies on 
the other, and yet the unfortunate conflict furnished no 
finer evidence of bravery. At Chapultepec there is a 
monument to the cadets, and grim war records attest the 
frightful losses suffered by the American regiments which 
finally swept over the bodies of the young heroes ; but tradi- 
tion and half-forgotten archives alone bear testimony to 



48 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

the stirring events in Lower California — for the chapter 
ends with Uncle Sam's surrender of Lower California! 

The messages and private journal of President Polk 
throw a white light on the Mexican War; personal 
memoirs of the volunteers supplement these writings. The 
truth about the episode is that the occupation of the Penin- 
sula by the United States forces, dating from the beginning 
of the struggle, was premeditated and in pursuance of a 
carefully arranged plan for its permanent retention. A 
treaty making slip set awry the arrangements. So Uncle 
Sam, our close-fisted Uncle, lost a province. Later, he lost 
the same land again, but the second time he was in the 
wrong even before it was won and offered to him. Before 
relating the incidents of the second fiasco, however, I must 
digress so far as to submit my first sources of information 
concerning the personality of that romantic but misguided 
character, William Walker, the "Gray Eyed Man of Des- 
tiny," one-time conqueror of Lower California. 

As a child, I lived in the early California mining town of 
Marysville, whither my father, in company with many an- 
other young fortune-seeker, had journeyed in the exciting 
days immediately following the discovery of gold. In the 
evenings of my childhood, he was ever generous in satisfy- 
ing my craving for adventure with his reminiscences of the 
golden days along the Yuba River. These reminiscences 
have never grown dim in my memory: there was the story 
of how Alcalde Field rose to be a Justice of the United 
States Supreme Court, of the heroism of the women of the 
Donner Party, of Lord "Charlie" Fairfax who preferred 
being a Speaker of the California Legislature to holding his 
English title; there were stern tales of the way the Union- 
ists ended dueling in California by grimly naming double- 
barreled shotguns with buckshot loads at six paces as terms 
of combat with any southern challenger; and last but not 



UNCLE SAM'S LOST PROVINCE 49 

lightly to be related, was the history of "Filibuster Walker," 
that man greater than a pirate or an Indian, who had even 
asked my father to go a-filibustering with him, first in 
Mexico and then in Nicaragua. And in those childish 
days I could not comprehend why such an invitation had 
been declined, for being a filibuster seemed greater than be- 
coming president, or even being a pirate. In later years, 
while a law student, I saw much of one Barney Wolfe, an 
early Marysville friend of my father. "Handsome Bar^ 
ney" he had been called in the '50's when he was by 
Walker's side in Nicaragua. 

Thus possessed of the American side of Walker's history, 
I found a peculiar interest in entering Lower California and 
listening to the old Indians and Mexicans who had seen and 
known him there, and it seems appropriate here to record 
the Mexican course of the "Last of the Filibusters." In 
1850, at the age of twenty-six. Walker had made his appear- 
ance In San Francisco as a journalist. Prior to that date, 
he had trained himself for medicine, law and journalism, 
having studied successively at his native city of Nashville, 
and In Philadelphia, Paris, Gottingen, Heidelberg and New 
Orleans. In 1851, he came before the California public in 
consequence of an article In his paper, the San Francisco 
Herald, reflecting upon a certain Judge Parsons; because 
of this article he was fined five hundred dollars and. In de- 
fault of payment thereof, sent to jail. A popular demon- 
stration In Walker's behalf ensued and he was released on 
a writ of habeas corpus. Later, he went before the Cali- 
fornia Legislature and endeavored to secure the Impeach- 
ment of Judge Parsons — judicial Impeachments being a 
California epidemic at that time. In 1852, Walker ap- 
peared in Marysville as an attorney and as leader of the 
pro-slavery faction. In the same year he visited Guaymas 
for the purpose of discovering what the French filibusters. 



so CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

Pindray and Count Raousset de Boulbon, were doing in 
Sonora. Impressed with the possibility of forming a pro- 
slavery state out of Sonora, the young firebrand hastened 
back to California where he found a hearty support await- 
ing him at the hands of the southern leaders, the "Chiv" 
element, who, imbued not only with devotion to the slave 
cause but also with a firm belief in the doctrine of "mani- 
fest destiny," were watching the French filibusters with 
hostile eyes. Heartily encouraged, therefore, and accom- 
panied by his friend, Henry P. Watkins, Walker revisited 
Guaymas in June, 1853, only to be ordered away by the 
alarmed authorities. But before his departure many of 
the affrighted inhabitants besought him to return with fight- 
ing men and protect them from the warlike Yaquis who 
even to this day terrorize portions of Sonora. 

Once again in the United States Walker opened a re- 
cruiting office at San Francisco and issued to ready pur- 
chasers bonds of the prospective "Republic of Sonora and 
Lower California." California was filled with venture- 
some spirits and many of them at once gathered about Wal- 
ker's standard. For the major part these recruits were 
young Kentuckians and Tennesseans, imbued with southern 
ideas and "spoiling for a scrap." On October the 15th, 
1853, Walker, with forty-six men and abundant supplies, 
slipped out of the Golden Gate, bound on a filibustering ex- 
pedition against a friendly nation. No attempt was made 
to stop his warlike brig, the "Caroline," for the very defi- 
nite reason that, for preventing Walker's departure two 
weeks earlier in the "Arrow," General Hitchcock had been 
removed from his command of the government forces at 
San Francisco ! In the '50's Jefferson Davis and his south- 
ern clique of Senators were anxious to make the way easy 
for an adventurer who might bring a new Texas into the 



UNCLE SAM'S LOST PROVINCE 5 1 

Union and add new slave votes to their column in the 
United States Senate. 

In due time the "Caroline" arrived at Las Paz, where 
Walker landed his men, took the city, issued a proclama- 
tion promising general protection, religious toleration and 
establishing the Louisiana Code, a simple method of intro- 
ducing slavery. A flag, with two stars representing Lower 
Cahfornia and Sonora and with two red stripes enclosing a 
white one, was immediately hoisted and a republic was pro- 
claimed with Walker as President, Frederic Emory as Sec- 
retary of State, John M. Jernagin as Secretary of War, 
Howard H. Snow as Secretary of the Navy, Charles H. 
Oilman as Captain of Battalion, and Wm. P. Mann as Ad- 
miral of the Navy. These proceedings the natives viewed 
with complacency. Such opposition as they offered was speed- 
ily overcome by the invaders, who shortly departed taking 
with them the public documents — or such of them as they 
had not already shot away as cartridge covers — and Senor 
Robelledo, the Political Chief of the district. After 
touching successively at San Jose del Cabo and Magdalena 
Bay, the filibusters disembarked, a hundred miles south of 
San Diego, at Todos Santos Bay, where Walker established 
himself in headquarters, which he termed Fort McKIbben, 
from whence he easily repulsed the attacking Mexicans. 

Meantime, rumor and the press announced throughout 
the United States the accurate news that Walker was In con- 
trol of Lower California, and throughout the South and 
West many were anxious to join his standard. One eve- 
ning, early in December, 1853, the great double doors of 
an improvised barrack were thrown open In San Francisco 
and out upon the streets poured a body of well-armed re- 
cruits for "President Walker." Undisturbed, except by 
the clamor of many who desired to join them, they marched 
down to the water front and, two hundred and thirty strong. 



*52 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

sailed at midnight in the "Anita" for Todos Santos Bay. 
These men were mainly Kentuckians and Tennesseans, with 
a sprinkling of Irish and Germans whom Walker considered 
the bravest of all foreigners and the only equals of his irre- 
sistible American warriors. In physique these filibusters 
rivalled the giant guardsmen of the Emperor Frederick; 
among them a man under six feet in height was a rarity. 

Reinforced by these adventurers, Walker seized Santo 
Tomas and fought the battles of La Grulla and San Vicente, 
both victories for his flag. In referring to these contests 
the old Mexicans and Indians, to a man, characterize Wal- 
ker in the same words : he was small, boyish appearing and 
very brave (muy valiente) . Moreover, he seemed pos- 
sessed of Berserker rage in battle. In describing this at- 
tribute an old Indian at San Vicente related to me how 
Walker rushed always ahead of his men when fighting and 
at such times seemed a devil. The general Impression re- 
tained of the filibusters is that Walker feared nothing and 
was a wonderful Captain; that he was youthful looking and 
wished the people to be free from 111 usage; that his men 
were sharpshooting giants seeking to ravage the land^ but 
"all soldiers and officials did that In those days" according 
to one of my Informants. At Ensenada, an old Indian 
woman gave me her recollections of the filibusters: she had 
been a mere girl, living at San Isidro where there were many 
young women, when ^'Guillermo" Walker and his Ameri- 
canos marched by: he was a small, preoccupied Capitan, 
but his men were very tall and they waved handkerchiefs at 
her and her friends. I Inquired what response was made : 
"Oh, we waved our hands to them, beckoning," she replied, 
with a crackling grin. 

Walker was always restlessly busy. Besides fighting 
these small battles, he issued five more proclamations, or- 
ganized a government and drilled his followers — and so 



UNCLE SAM'S LOST PROVINCE 53 

incessantly that a body of them endeavored to desert, an 
unfortunate step on their part, however, for not only were 
they unsuccessful in their effort but two of their number 
were shot and many of the others flogged. Immediately 
after these proceedings, the filibuster leader gathered his 
men about him and offered them all their choice of con- 
tinuing on or of returning to the United States. Only fifty 
turned northward. With the balance Walker went into 
quarters at San Vicente. 

At this point Uncle Sam again might have acquired 
Lower California. He had allowed Walker to recruit and 
outfit in his territory and to sail, unhindered, through the 
Golden Gate; six months had passed and now the Penin- 
sula lay in the filibuster's palm, ready for annexation. But 
Uncle made no move. The opportunity was lost. 

There is no lack of interest in the further adventures of 
the filibusters even though they have had no chronicler. 
On the 20th of March, 1854, Walker sent a portion of his 
forces to San Quintin Bay and Rosarlo under instructions 
to hold the country. With the balance he marched into the 
mountains to the east of San Vicente and history has had 
no record of his doings thereafter until he appeared a month 
later, on the west bank of the Colorado River, intent on 
reaching Sonora and subjecting it to his rule. His every 
step, however, is recalled by the old Indians. According 
to their accounts he entered the Pais country, along the Col- 
entura Arroyo, directed by a small band of Indian allies, 
and there some of his men met their death — just how or by 
whom the Indians do not relate. From this arroyo he 
swung around the northwest shoulder of the mighty sierra 
of San Pedro Martir and entered the Valle Trinidad, the 
scattered inhabitants fleeing before him. Here he added to 
his stock of beef cattle and preempted an unbroken "calico" 
or pinto stallion which the departing Mexicans, with malice 



54 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

aforethought, had left behind. It was a beautiful animal, 
and possessed of so wild and vicious a spirit that no vaquero 
had been able to stay astride its back. When the boyish 
Capitan, therefore, in the presence of his men and of nume- 
rous Indians, not only mounted the stallion but subdued it, 
the Indians, delighted by such horsemanship — and the evi- 
dent abundance of provisions — immediately allied them- 
selves to the cause of the filibusters and showed them their 
ancient trail into the secret depths of the Arroyo Grande 
and thence across the desert, around the Sierra del Pintos, 
and down the Hardy River to the Colorado. By this time. 
Pais, Kahwa, Catarina Yuma and Cocupa Indians were 
following the Americanos and joyously sharing their di- 
minishing provisions. 

Crossing the Colorado River proved a disastrous feat. 
Cattle and supplies were swept away, lives lost and the rank 
and file discouraged. Famine and a general break-up en- 
sued, some of the filibusters traveling northward and sur- 
rendering to the American forces at Yuma, while Walker 
himself with the balance, recrossed the river and began his 
return march. Provisions gone, the Americanos quickly 
lost their Indian allies and soon found them, as pitiless 
enemies, co-operating with a company of Mexican troops 
under Melendrez, a most resourceful officer. Eventually, 
the remnant of the filibusters, their reputation for fearless 
bravery In no way tarnished, reached the American Line 
just south of San Diego, and surrendered, on the American 
side, to Captain Burton, of the United States Army. 

Just before Walker and his men crossed the Line, the 
leader of the pursuing Mexican forces advised Captain 
Burton that he wished to capture the filibusters. "Good," 
responded Burton, "that will relieve us of trouble. You 
are five to one, go ahead." Thereupon the Mexican troops 
advanced cautiously upon their crippled foe, but Walker, in 



UNCLE SAM'S LOST PROVINCE S5 

place of escaping across the Line, faced his young warriors 
about and led them, wildly cheering, against the foe. The 
latter fled, incontinently, whereupon Walker marched his 
men into United States territory and surrendered. The 
filibusters whom Walker had sent southward from San 
yicente overran the country while their ammunition lasted, 
then they died by the garrote and the dagger. For his 
action against a friendly country, Walker was tried in the 
United States Court at San Francisco — and acquitted! 

When one recalls that in 1847-8 Uncle Sam fought for 
Lower California, obtained possession of the land, con- 
ciliated the people — and then gave up the country; that in 
1853-4 he permitted Walker to outfit and recruit In San 
Francisco and acquitted him of the crime of so doing — 
and yet did not accept Lower California when the filibuster 
had It In hand early in 1854; when one reads that In 1859, 
our same Uncle, through President Buchanan and his Minis- 
ter to Mexico, McClane, endeavored to take advantage of 
Benito Juarez's extremity and purchase Lower California; 
and twenty-two years later, if rumor runs truly, only the 
death of President Garfield interfered with an official sound- 
ing of Mexico as to her willingness to sell the California 
Peninsula : When one considers this succession of Incon- 
sistent actions, but a single explanation presents itself: as- 
suredly, they all chanced at times when our Uncle Sam was 
off fishing and Miss Columbia was running the government 
and enjoying, to the limit, her feminine prerogative of be- 
ing whimsical. 

Persistently, however, the question arises, Will the United 
States acquire Lower California? And it Is no unsafe pre- 
diction to reply that the Peninsula will not come under the 
Stars and Stripes by any filibustering doorway. The ill- 
advised persons, who buried stands of arms In the sands 
near San Quintin not a quarter of a century since, might well 



56 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

have known that, in endeavoring to emulate Walker, they 
were pursuing a plan not in accord with an age of Hague 
Peace Tribunals. 



CHAPTER V 

WHEREIN I LOSE MY PARSON AND FALL IN WITH SENOR DICK 

DECEMBER and January had passed and February 
was opening with a burst of rain that made the pos- 
session of a slicker a distinct blessing. San Vicente, 
with its romantic associations, was many leagues behind me, 
but my course still trended southward along El Camino 
Real. 

On the fifth of February I rode into San Quintin, a small 
village of perhaps a hundred two-legged inhabitants and 
a hundred million fleas. It Is situated on the edge of the 
Pacific, just above the thirtieth parallel of north latitude, 
and hard by five strange hills which. In the halcyon days of 
its buccaneering and smuggling trade, gave the port Its 
early name of the Bay of Five Hills. Briefly, San Quintin 
has a harbor which needs dredging, wonderful salt beds 
from which, for some unknown reason, no salt is extracted, 
a flour mill which is enjoying a long vacation, and a lobster 
factory which does nothing to Interfere with the numerous 
lobsters thriving along the coast. Also, there is a twenty- 
mile railroad — relic of colonization efforts — over which a 
locomotive once traveled carrying as Its freight a bale of 
hay; being put to work, later, at running the flour mill! 
Finally, gulls and other sea fowl march and counter march 
in squadrons along the shore line, while the duck and goose 
shooting to he had at San Quintin is not to be excelled on 
the American continent. 

57 



5^ CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

In consequence of a "scene" with my erstwise Texas par- 
son, I arrived at San Quintin in a most irritable mood. The 
trouble had arisen from the man's devotional methods. Of 
course an earnest desire for prayer at eventide — though as- 
suredly most unusual along the Border — merits respect, 
but Ben's proceedings along this line early aroused my sus- 
picions concerning his sincerity; for not only did he shout 
his supplications In good old southern Methodist fashion, 
but he shortly developed a vexatious habit of confessing his 
sins dolefully In my Immediate presence at such times as I 
was tired and especially in need of sleep. The second night 
of these revival experiences had brought forth the fact that 
the fellow was in Mexico because of an anxious Grand Jury 
in Texas: admitting his crime and expressing his penitence, 
he called loudly upon his Creator for forgiveness, announc- 
ing his desire to return and receive the full punishment 
awaiting him at the hands of the law. My sympathy 
aroused — though my slumbers were disturbed — I advised 
him the following morning that upon the completion of our 
trip I would present his case. In its most favorable aspect, 
to the prosecuting attorney of his home county and arrange 
for a light sentence, the arrangement between us being con- 
ditioned upon his return to Texas and submission to the au- 
thorities. Texas prisons, however, are, it seems, places In 
which one has no leisure for continuous prayer, but much 
time for heavy manual labor; therefore my suggestion was 
not well received. Finally, the morning before our arrival 
at San Quintin, the wayward Ben petulantly disclosed his 
cowardice, declaring himself averse to facing the prospec- 
tive dangers of the middle portion of the Peninsula and ad- 
vising me to give up the idea of proceeding into such an arid 
region. To this I made bitter reply, stating that I intended 
to proceed, even though I had to travel alone, and as for 
him, if he planned to desert, he had best do so at the first 



WHEREIN I LOSE MY PARSON 59 

town, for If he endeavored to leave me In the wilderness 
farther south, I would shoot him down like a dog. 

Under such a happy condition of affairs, enhanced by the 
dampness of a driving rain storm, I made my entry into San 
Quintin. Almost Immediately, however, matters became 
more cheerful, for a courteous and well Informed Mexican, 
Sr. Gabriel Victoria, greeted me kindly and made me ac- 
quainted with the Englishman, Sefior Dick. The balance 
of his name Is immaterial. The "remittance man" of my 
Alamo burro show had first mentioned him to me. Some 
time a first mate in the English merchant marine and since 
the early '8o's engaged continuously In Peninsular mining 
enterprises, no more romantic figure is to be found In Lower 
California than this sturdy, blonde, good-looking English- 
man, Sefior Dick. The more material part of his qualifi- 
cations Is, that you cannot find a better traveling companion 
for El Camino Real than he, or one more widely informed. 

On the evening of my arrival at San Quintin, "Charlie," 
an extremely wise and enthusiastic Chinaman whose ac- 
quaintance I had just made, came to my tent with word that 
I was wanted in the hotel dining-room. On entering the 
room, five minutes later, I found that It was deserted save 
for two lone men who were seated at either end of a long 
table. One was Sefior Dick, the other I recognized as the 
native mall carrier of the district. As the substantial distance 
between the two men was bridged by an alarming array of 
bottles, I accepted Sefior Dick's Invitation to be seated, with 
a mental thanksgiving for an extensive capacity that comes 
through a strain of Dutch blood. No sooner was I In my 
allotted place than the prompt opening of bottles assured 
me of the accuracy of what I already surmised: I was In for 
a serious and not-to-be-sllghted ordeal, a frontier drinking- 
bout. And here let me parenthesize that San Quentln Is 
pronounced San Canteen, a pronunciation which no visitor 



6o CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

is apt to forget, for assuredly the canteen is patron saint of 
this flea-bitten pueblo. As assistance in securing a new 
muleteer might depend on the manner in which I passed the 
drinking test, I committed myself to it with due deliberation. 
Fortunately, by taking port in place of the more fiery mes- 
cal chosen by my companions and by devoting considerable 
time to the consumption of crackers and apples, I was en- 
abled to hold my own, acquitting myself to the evident satis- 
faction of my examiners. 

Early in the game Charlie dropped in, inquiring whether 
I was acquainted with two of my compatriots who had 
passed through some months before. "Him catchee klyote," 
he exclaimed, disdainfully, "no good came. Him catchee 
lats and mice, belly good, muy btieno," he added, musingly, 
at the same time indicating, with thumb and forefinger, the 
way in which he transferred similar choice morsels into his 
mouth. Subsequently I ascertained that the Americans had 
been engaged in securing specimens for the National Mu- 
seum at Washington. The festive Oriental, however, had 
come to his own conclusions. Presently, inspired by the 
clinking glasses and the mellow light of dim lamp and 
flickering candle, Senor Dick and the Mexican grew remin- 
iscent, recounting, in turn, a succession of weirdly fascinat- 
ing tales of mines and lost prospectors, of buried treasure 
and haunted ruins, of game and poisonous serpents, of the 
camino and of thirst. Finally, when the bottles were nearly 
empty, the jovial Chino showed that he had sportive as well 
as epicurean tastes, for he gravely produced from within 
the liberal folds of his blouse a ragged pack of cards and 
innocently suggested a "little gama poka." This risk — the 
mail carrier averred that Charlie always had "full houses" 
— I avoided by coolly suggesting, as a substitute, that each 
man turn a card, "low" man to win, our watches the stakes 
and only to be produced after the "show down." But to 



WHEREIN I LOSE MY PARSON 6 1 

this game Charlie objected as naively as he had urged 
"poka." The reason for his reluctance and my indiffer- 
ence was explained later when, being curious concerning the 
hour, we drew out our timepieces: his was a valuable gold 
repeater; mine had cost a dollar and was already out of 
order. 

Astounded by the oblique position of the hour hand, we 
hunted our blankets, upturned glasses, drained bottles, 
empty lamp and guttered candle silently attesting the end 
of the "conference." And yet such were its auspicious re- 
sults that before morning was far advanced Serior Dick and 
I were in the saddle, with pack animals swinging along be- 
fore us. A capable well-mannered Mexican boy, duly in- 
dentured to me for three months, had taken my parson's 
place as muleteer, San Quintin was miles behind us, and my 
worries were forgotten. I had paid off Ben before leaving 
the village; so thenceforth there was prospect of my slum- 
bers being undisturbed. The little I know concerning the 
unfortunate fellow's subsequent movements was related to 
me months later. Retracing his steps northward he had 
stopped by the wayside, evidently to enjoy the hospitality 
of a party of miners, when one of the latter suddenly de- 
manded my whereabouts. Being somewhat slow in his re- 
sponse, the dazed Ben found himself unexpectedly face to 
face with that inflexible, though unwritten, law of the fron- 
tier, which declares that where two men enter the wilder- 
ness together and one returns, alone, that one must account 
satisfactorily for the absence of his fellow or suffer the con- 
sequences. That evening the unfortunate fellow slipped 
out of camp; he appeared later in Ensenada, but I never 
saw him again. 

And now what a different and Interesting companion I 
had! For three days our course trended southward, and 
except at Rosarlo, not a man crossed our trail. The sierras 



62 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

blocked the eastern horizon, the booming Pacific was down 
at our right and all about us were cacti, cacti and more cacti. 

"Senor Dick, where are the Indians?" I inquired as we 
rode along. "In the States, Lower California and Indians 
are practically synonymous." 

The Senor shifted his stubby pipe and answered shortly, 
"In the States and in the Old Country, people don't know 
anything about Lower California." Presently, however, 
he considered the Indian proposition. "They are dead, 
stone dead, the whole blooming outfit — except a few strays. 
Down along the Colorado and the Hardy there's said to be 
a fair handful of Cocupas. I take It that you've made the 
acquaintance of the Catarina Yumas and Pi-pis, and, by and 
bye, over there on San Pedro Martir, you'll find the Kali- 
was. But the southern tribes, the thousands of Pericues, 
Guiacuras and Cochimis — you'll have a hard time finding 
even a trace of them." I urged my mule forward. It is 
strangely diflicult to catch the words of a man riding ahead 
of one. 

"Weren't they hardy?" I asked. 

"Rather." Then his blue eyes twinkled and he con- 
tinued, "Did you ever hear of the Indian who ran from 
Santa Rosalia to San Francisco?" 

"No, tell me," I urged. 

"It is a true yarn," began my companion, and with this 
introduction narrated the following tale : A few years ago 
there lived on the Peninsula an ancient hunter, an Indian by 
the name of Juan. He was a great wanderer, spending 
part of his time at Loreto, part at Santa Rosalia and the 
balance in the "waist" of the Peninsula. On one of his peri- 
odic visits to Santa Rosalia, he found a snorting, clanging 
iron affair, running on metallic rails reaching from the Provi- 
dencia Copper Mines to the milling plant at Santa Rosalia. 
The Rothschilds and other big French capitalists, having 



WHEREIN I LOSE MY PARSON 63 

purchased the mines, had built a short railroad to connect 
them with Santa Rosalia, half a league distant, but this ex- 
planation was not vouchsafed to Juan nor would It have 
conveyed aught to him. However, for years he had watched 
with silent interest the steamers plying up and down the 
Gulf of California, or the Mar de Cortez as he called it, 
and upon being informed that the new creature was related 
to the ^'Vapors" he quietly slipped into the frame station 
at Providencia and asked for a ride. This request curtly 
refused, Juan forthwith fell into a bitter passion of anger 
from which he was aroused to action by the sneering whistle 
of the departing engine. Casting one disdainful glance 
over station, employees, engine and track, the lithe Indian 
swung away at full speed down the Camino and shortly 
loped Into Santa Rosalia, somewhat in advance of the 
screaming engine. 

Emboldened by this success, a month later Juan entered 
the steamship office at Santa Rosalia and begged for passage 
to San Francisco. A second time he met with a refusal. 
Again angered, the old hunter sought out his English and 
American friends and they, in a spirit of mischief, promptly 
backed him to vanquish the steamer Curacao In Its forth- 
coming run to San Francisco, a six hundred league trip for 
the steamer, four hundred leagues for the pedestrian. With 
a final shriek of escaping steam, the Curacao nosed out 
of the harbor. With a twist of his breech-cloth Juan took 
to the cactus. Two weeks later the steamer entered the 
slip at San Francisco and there sat old Juan on a barnacled 
pile, calmly smoking a cigarette. He wore a trifle more 
clothes than on leaving Santa Rosalia and was a shade thin- 
ner, but otherwise the same old Indian. "Vds. muy tarde" 
he solemnly remarked to the Captain, between cigarette 
whiffs, the which, freely translated, means "You fellows are 
mighty slow." 



64 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

"Whether or not Juan's backers wired their friends in 
San Diego to help the Indian's legs with a passage on the 
Northern Express from that city to San Francisco," added 
Senor Dick, with a broad grin, "is no part of the story. I 
merely offer it as seasoning. The point is, that Juan made 
good and his backers gathered in their wagers." 

"It's a mighty fine story," said I, rather emphasizing the 
last word, "but how did Juan carry his commissary while on 
the camino?" 

The Seiior disregarded this query, apparently, his eyes 
the meantime resting abstractedly on our mozos, now well 
in the lead with the pack animals. Presently, however, he 
broke the silence. "What is your Mexican boy doing there, 
off the camino?" he asked. I looked up and observed that 
the boy seemed to be enjoying himself greatly. "Why, he 
is extracting something edible from the flower of the aloe 
or maguay." 

"Exactly! And that something is a dew as sweet as 
honey — and nourishing. Do you know what that green 
club is, which my mozo has so carefully bound back of his 
saddle?" 

I shook my head. 

"Well, to-night you will see him roast that in the coals 
and enjoy it as much as you would a sweet potato. It is the 
young stalk of the flowering maguay. And within that viz- 
naga there, you may find a juice sufficient to lessen thirst." 

Thus, as we traveled on I learned from the kindly Eng- 
lishman the natural lore of the country, knowledge which 
in time was to save my life. About the fifth day out we 
approached the old Mission of San Fernando. Here our 
ways were to part, and here he advised me to look out for 
a high cliff marked with prehistoric hieroglyphs. 



CHAPTER VI 

THE PETROGLYPH MAKERS AND SOUTHERN INDIANS.* 

IN the Opening pages of his scholarly work on California, 
Padre Francisco Javier Clavijero, the eighteenth cen- 
tury Jesuit chronicler, dealt extensively with the native 
races of the southern portion of the Peninsula, and in his 
paragraphs concerning prehistoric peoples offered material 
calculated to excite the curiosity of any traveler in Lower 
California. Indeed, according to Clavijero these first set- 
tlers were of heroic size and given to hieroglyphic writing, 
In line with his statements is the following, which is said 
to have been written In 1790: 

" 'Throughout civilized California, from south to north, 
and especially in the caves and smooth rocks, there remain 
various rude paintings, . . . The colors are of four kinds 
— yellow, green, black and a reddish color. The greater 
part of them are painted in high places, and from this it is 
inferred by some that the old tradition is true, that there 
were giants among the ancient Californians. . . . One in- 
scription resembles Gothic letters interspersed with Hebrew 
and Chaldean characters. ... It is evident that the paint- 
ings and drawings of the Californians are significant sym- 
bols and landmarks by which they intended to leave to pos- 
terity the memory of their establishment in this country. 
. . . These pictures are not like those of Mexico but 
might have the same purpose.' " 

Bancroft, in his "Native Races," discusses the paragraph 
last cited, locating the writings on a cliff near the old Jesuit 

* Republished, in part, from The American Anthropologist, for April- 
June, 1908. 

6s 



66 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

Misson of Santiago, some leagues below La Paz, and con- 
cludes with this statement, "The only accounts of antiquities 
(on the Peninsula) relate to cave and cliff paintings and in- 
scriptions which have never been copied and concerning 
which, consequently, not much can be said." 

These various passages concerning the prehistoric Cali- 
fornians had whetted my curiosity even before I entered 
Mexico and quite naturally, therefore, throughout my ex- 
plorations, and especially In the cliff regions, I kept a sharp 
lookout for any evidence of the handiwork of these forgot- 
ten people. To my great delight I was fortunate to dis- 
cover three new groups of cliff writings which I will here 
present in succinct order. 

/. The Arroyo Grande Petroglyphs. 

In January, while hunting big-horn, I made camp in the 
Arroyo Grande. This Grand Canyon is an awe-inspiring 
chasm through which a dry river-bed takes its course, head- 
ing in the sierras southeast of Alamo and finally debouching 
into the desert immediately southwest of the mouth of the 
Colorado River. The product of volcanic action, the en- 
tire region Is dry and barren. Dull red cliffs, honey-combed 
with caves, rise sheer above the white sand of the arroyo 
bed to dizzy heights where condor and big-horn make their 
homes. There are no known springs of water In the vicin- 
ity, but in one of the many deep and rocky gorges which 
intersect the Arroyo Grande from the northwest there are 
eight or nine tinajas, or natural cisterns, where rain water — 
when there is rain — collects. The petroglyphs are pecked 
shallowly Into the face of a dark granite boulder set above 
the largest of the tinajas. In the lower right hand corner 
of the cliff there appears a figure which may have been in- 
tended to represent a human being. Aside from this it 
would seem as though the writer intended to make an In- 




cdj 



mmro 




unirxD'^ 




a o 

01 Os 



O 3 



^fc 



'C'^, 




THE PETROGLYPH MAKERS 67 

scrlptlon rather than to delineate any figures. The design 
that at once catches the eye, however, is the rain sign of the 
Mokis, the cloud from which drops are falling. Two other 
characters of interest are the M and the * which stand out 
from the center of the group. Here, moreover, as in the 
San Fernando group which I will presently describe, are 
designs so far resembling the Phoenecian characters repre- 
sentative of Bh and N as to explain the eighteenth century 
chronicler's classification of the California petroglyphs as 
writings of the Chaldeans and other ancient peoples. 

These Arroyo Grande petroglyphs, though barely ex- 
ceeding in any instance a height of eighteen inches, stand 
out plain and distinct. 

For untold generations the Arroyo Grande was an Indian 
highway to the desert and the Colorado River, and from 
its mouth, traversing the lava formation of the eastern por- 
tion of the desert, scar-like trails are still visible, although 
cacti, which require, the Indians say, two centuries for ma- 
turing, long ago overgrew these forgotten caminos and 
stretched their dead bodies athwart them. Until late in 
the last century the Arroyo Grande was a hiding-place for 
outlaws, the tinajas being unknown to the Mexican authori- 
ties. Even now they are visited but infrequently. 

2. The San Pedro Mdrtir Petroglyphs. 

As the crow flies, the distance from these Arroyo Grande 
tinajas to the base of San Pedro Martir Sierra, is not over 
twelve leagues, but to the being not blessed with wings, the 
rugged sierras about the Arroyo Grande and the sweltering 
sands of the San Felipe Desert make the distance seem inter- 
minable. This desert has a gruesome reputation, for 
though but few people have entered upon its stretches, of 
those few, several have not returned. Mexicans and In- 
dians, alike, speak of it with a shudder and there is no rec- 



68 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

ord of any man having explored all of its recesses and 
bounds. Out upon this dreary waste open the forbidding 
mouths of San Mattias, Esperancia, Copal and Diablo, 
grim arroyos slashed deep into the vitals of San Pedro 
Martir Sierra. Before these openings worn boulders and 
scarred logs, borne down from the heights above by wild 
storm torrents, lie half buried in the sand, most inviting 
eminences for lion and coyote when hunger and the restless- 
ness of night call them from their lairs. Even the Kaliwas, 
the Indians of the great Sierra, know little of these re- 
treats: there Is sufficient heat upon the desert, where some 
air stirs, they say, with a shrug of dark shoulders; why ap- 
proach the mountainside, where there Is no breeze from the 
Gulf, and enter a heat infernal, challenging death Itself? 

These arroyos open out from the northern side of the 
sierra. In one of them, a short distance from its mouth 
and to the west, there are three successive sets of petro- 
glyphs, all of them facing the east. The Indians are un- 
aware of their existence. I saw them, however, In August, 
1906. 

The first set Is on a boulder not over fifty paces from the 
bed of the arroyo. The design of this petroglyph Is that 
of a conventional human heart enclosing characters. The 
other sets are near one another and about one hundred 
paces up-stream from the first. They appear on bold 
granite cliffs, high above the bed of the arroyo. One of 
these last named sets represents several persons approach- 
ing two pine trees. As the only pines in the neighborhood 
are on the crest of the sierra in the direction taken by the 
figures, this petroglyph may be taken as a guide post of the 
ancient people. 

Clavljero, in recounting the San Joaquin discovery, men- 
tions that in one of the caves paintings were found repre- 
senting "men and women with garments similar to those of 



THE PETROGLYPH MAKERS 69 

the Mexicans, but they were entirely barefoot. The men 
had their arms open and somewhat elevated, and one of the 
women had her hair hanging loose down her back and a 
tuft of feathers on her head." Oddly enough, the figures 
of this group are not those of nude Indians of the Penin- 
sula, but of people "with garments." 

On a cliff, just above the pine-tree cliff, there are two 
figures either of persons with broad head-coverings or of a 
quadruped with human head and shoulders. Beyond this 
set there is a panel of figures on a broad and wide cliff and, 
at the farther side thereof, a sharp design much like an 
hour-glass. All of these last three sets of petroglyphs are 
over four feet in height, cut in outline on the granite rock 
and the peckings smeared over with an unfading yellowish 
paint. Distance plays strange pranks with them, for at 
first glance they seem plain and accessible, but after one has 
worked his way upward to a certain proximity their inac- 
cessibility becomes disappointingly apparent. Indeed, the 
people who marked these cliffs either had an abundance of 
rope ladders at their disposal or else lower buttresses of 
the crag have crumbled away. 

J. The San Fernando Petroglyphs. 

It was in February, that as related in the preceding chap- 
ter, Senor Dick and I arrived at the ruins of the Franciscan 
Mission of San Fernando, founded by Junipero Serra in 
May, 1769, immediately prior to his departure for Upper 
California and his notable career in that favored region. 
San Fernando lies on the thirtieth parallel of north latitude. 
A short half-mile northwest of the mission ruins there are 
several high cliffs facing the east and on these I found the 
petroglyphs of which the seiior had advised me. Accord- 
ing to the native legend these jeroglyficos were made by a 
race of great stature who inhabited the country long before 



70 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

the coming of the Indians. The design or character, which 
appears by itself at the right hand of the group and resem- 
bles a Roman numeral, is identical with one of the characters 
in the Santiago group, which was located in the eighteenth 
century. At the very top of the cliff I deciphered certain 
letters, perhaps intended either for the Spanish Cruz, or the 
Latin Crux, a cross : anyway, it is said that these were add' 
ed by the padres to destroy the spell of evil Inherent in the 
jeroglyficos below ! 

^. Other Evidence of the Petroglyph Makers. 

In addition to these various cliff writings, there are other 
signs in Lower California which bear testimony of the so- 
journ of this prehistoric race. Thus, a hundred miles and 
more south of San Fernando, there rises a barren range of 
lofty sierras, and while exploring certain of its higher ridges 
a prospector recently found remnants of an ancient road cut 
in the rock. Before he had followed the road any great 
distance the prospector's canteen failed him, so that he was 
compelled to retreat without having ascertained the objec- 
tive of the camino. It would be interesting to explore this 
range — and with relays of Indians to pack water, explora- 
tion would be possible — for its course might disclose fur- 
ther traces of the Petroglyph Makers. 

A hundred miles southwest of these sierras lies the little 
mining pueblo of Calmalli. But a few leagues to the west 
of the pueblo may be heard the booming breakers of the 
Pacific. On the cliffs of an arroyo down near the ocean 
appears the work of some bygone Petroglyph Maker who 
certainly possessed marvelous skill, for the human figures 
and designs which he here drew were extremely well exe- 
cuted and endurlngly decorated with coloring matter. 
Southeast of Calmalli and just off the twenty-seventh par- 
allel of north latitude lies San Joaquin, a rancho where, 



THE PETROGLYPH MAKERS 71 

according to Clavijero, one Padre Robea, a Jesuit priest, 
found gigantic remains and a cave with "painted figures of 
men and women, decently clad." Near San Joaquin is the 
old mission town of San Ignacio, the junction of numerous 
caminos dating back to the days of the padres. Some of 
these highways are said to antedate the Spanish conquest 
and to be relics of the skill of the Petroglyph Makers. Cer- 
tainly, a combination of many laborers with a remarkable 
knowledge of the art of road-building must have been essen- 
tial for their construction. 

To sum up: Of a character differing in many respects 
from those In the United States and on the mainland of 
Mexico, the cliff writings In Lower California form a chain 
extending down the Peninsula; furthermore, there is evi- 
dence in the sierras which indicates the existence of roads 
antedating the earliest Spanish settlements In the country. 

In connection with the Petroglyph Makers, It Is quite 
worth while gathering together such data as there Is con- 
cerning the people who immediately succeeded them, the 
Indians of the southern portion of the California Peninsula. 
A crisp, modern description of these natives might, with 
slight exaggeration, be phrased in a brief sentence, viz. : 
There aren't any. However, their passing Is of such re- 
cent date that an accurate knowledge of them has been 
preserved by book and by tradition even though they made 
no petroglyphs and left no monuments. When the first 
Europeans landed on the Peninsula in 1533, they found, 
near the present site of La Paz, a wideawake party of In- 
dians who not only Impolitely objected to being robbed by 
the punctilious Spaniards, but even ruthlessly proceeded to 
kill Xlmenes, a pilot from one of the ships of Cortez. In 
this, the natives showed a fine though unconscious sense of 
justice, for Xlmenes had, a short time before, mutinied and 
killed Becerra, his captain. During the period of slightly 



72 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

more than a century and half succeeding this episode, vari- 
ous Conquistadores and buccaneers visited the southern por- 
tion of the Peninsula and reported it as thickly peopled with 
Indians, brave in combat, skillful in diving, unaccustomed to 
the wearing of clothing, habitually possessing an abnormal 
hunger and always delighted by the receipt of any sweet- 
meat. 

Then the seventeenth century came to a close and the 
Society of Jesus, through Its missionaries, undertook the 
development of California and the Christianization of the 
"Gentiles" or Indians. These Padres found two principal 
native tribes Inhabiting the southern portion of the Penin- 
sula: the Perlcues, reaching from Cape San Lucas to the 
Mission of Santiago and some leagues beyond, and the 
Guiacui»as, disputing the northern territory of the Perlcues 
and extending northward to Loreto, the early Mission capi- 
tal of the Californlas. The Cochimis, occupying the region 
from Loreto to the high mountains at the northern end of 
Lower California, occasionally reached over Into the south- 
ern grounds. In the aggregate these three tribes numbered 
twenty thousand members. Each of the three main tribal 
divisions was broken Into many lesser tribes, with Individual 
dialects and varied Idioms. Although they were a healthy 
people at the time of the coming of the Padres, the Indians 
did not remain so long, for measles, smallpox and the loath- 
some diseases of tainted civilization, introduced among them 
by the garrisons, spread with frightful virulence. In sev- 
enty years the southern Indians were reduced to a scant five 
thousand. By 1794 it is recorded that there were no In- 
dians surviving about some of the southern missions, and 
thirty years later report says that not a single pure Indian 
was to be found below Loreto. Those who escaped disease, 
however, lived to extreme old age. So Indeed, do the 
Mexicans upon the Peninsula to-day, and one may meet 




The aged Cochimi of Santa Gertrudls 



THE PETROGLYPH MAKERS 73 

even yet centenarians at Loreto and learn from them con- 
cerning the closing days of the Spanish sway when the sol- 
diers branded with a red-hot iron each new herd of Indians 
brought into the Presidio ! 

The Pericues and Guiacuras are now practically extinct. 
It is not surprising. Of the thousands of Cochimis, per- 
haps a hundred still survive about the missions of San 
Xavier, Santa Gertrudis and San Borja. Those at San 
Xavier, however, I am inclined to believe should be classed 
as Guiacuras. The Cochimis are a good-natured, easy- 
going people, far more formally religious and far more fond 
of hunting than the neighboring Mexicans; they are more 
reliable workers than their neighbors, but they dress just 
as raggedly. A few years more and they will have disap- 
peared entirely. A family of this tribe watch over San 
Borja Mission, down in the "waist" of the Peninsula. Rita, 
the head of the family, faithfully rang the mission bells the 
Sunday I spent at San Borja. 

When I was at Santa Gertrudis, I slept by the mission 
and was awakened early in the morning by an ancient Co- 
chimi who was croning over her beads before the mission 
altar. Later, as she sat on the steps, enjoying a cigarette 
and sunning her frail body, she told me that she was over a 
hundred years old. Had she said one hundred and fifty I 
should not have been skeptical, for she seemed well along 
in the mummy class. Crouched on the worn stone steps, 
she seemed the very epitome of the mission system, a poor, 
faithful old dame, the sole worshiper in the wilderness, 
dreaming of the last Padres, for whose return a half cen- 
tury of prayers had been vain, and peopling, doubtless, the 
deserted plaza with the figures of those now resting in the 
neglected graves hard by. 



CHAPTER VII 

SOME FINAL MISSIONARY LABORS AND THE SIERRA CAMINO 

REAL. 

FOR three days Senor Dick and I rested at San Fer- 
nando, waiting for a cessation of the downpour 
which met us there. San Fernando is conducive to 
waiting. Moreover, from both a geographical and an 
historical standpoint, it is a spot for consideration. But to 
appreciate San Fernando or any portion of the California 
Peninsula, for that matter, an insight, at least, into the mis- 
sion history of the land is essential. Lacking such knowl- 
edge every step of Peninsula travel is deprived of the wealth 
of color with which it is illumined in the rich traditional 
and recorded history of the land. In the State of Cali- 
fornia the old missions are of romantic interest as land- 
marks of an earlier day. Yet so vast is the area over which 
they are scattered and so marvelous has been the growth 
of the country since their construction that a traveler might 
pass the length of the State without seeing so much as a 
single mission. In the Mexican Peninsula of Baja Cali- 
fornia, on the other hand, so completely were the garden 
spots searched out and preempted by the zealous mission 
builders that the chain of missions eventually included the 
vital watering places of the country. Reaching north, 
south and west from Loreto, the Mother Mission, and 
weaving in and out among the various missions, were three 
great highways, the Gulfo, the Sierra, and the Pacifico, 

75 



76 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

Caminos Reales. So closely did these caminos follow the 
most feasible lines of travel and so slight has been the 
material development of the territory since the days of the 
padres that even now, in the twentieth century, the ancient 
mission chain is not an incident but the most prominent and 
essential feature of Peninsula travel. 

It was in the closing years of the seventeenth century, 
over a hundred and sixty years subsequent to the time that 
Cortez first set foot in the land, that the Jesuits began their 
monumental series of mission construction in California. 
Later, after the Society of Jesus had dominated for seventy 
years, came the San Fernandines, adding, during their brief 
stay, one mission to the twenty-five erected by their prede- 
cessors. The Dominicans quickly superseded the San Fer- 
nandines and, with nine missions to their credit, concluded 
the chain begun by the Society of Jesus. Thus, although 
the missions seen in the State of California were constructed 
by the San Fernandines, alone, the more numerous missions 
in Baja California represent the labor of three Brother- 
hoods. Furthermore, mission building In Baja California 
was practically completed ere It began In what Is now the 
State of California. 

A glimpse Into early chronicles shows the Mission of 
San Fernando In the light of an historic link between the 
two Callfornlas. In the spring of the year 1769, the 
worthy Padre Junlpero Serra, head of the Franciscan 
Friars, then new arrivals In California, accompanied by 
Captain Caspar de Portola, Governor of the Peninsula, 
and guarded by a strong body of soldiers and In- 
dians, made camp at a spot twenty leagues northwest of 
Santa Maria, the last mission of the Jesuits. Here, in a 
fertile, well-watered valley, surrounded by mountains rich 
in copper and iron ore, many Indians lived and an advance 
guard of the new Brotherhood had already erected a few 



THE SIERRA CAMINO REAL 77 

adobes. To good Padre Serra and the gallant captain the 
site seemed favorable for a mission and therefore they 
halted, laying, one morning in May, 1769, the foundations 
of the Mission of San Fernando de Vellcata. But the name 
of Junlpero Serra was to become historic in another Cali- 
fornia. After a few days in this pleasant spot the Padre, 
with Portola, and a portion of the escort, hurried forward 
and in July, ninety-six days out from Loreto, he founded a 
mission at San Diego and thereby began his illustrious 
career in Alta California, for the San Diego foundation 
was the first of the many missions erected in Upper Cali- 
fornia. 

San Fernando de Vellcata, in latitude 30 degrees north, 
longitude 115 degrees 5 minutes west, and lying thirty 
leagues southwesterly from the Mexican port of San Quln- 
tin on the Pacific coast, was the only mission of the Fran- 
ciscan Brotherhood in Lower California. For In the year 
1773, pursuant to a compact entered into with the Domini- 
can Brotherhood, the San Fernandlnes left the Peninsula 
and moved northward into Upper California. At the close 
of the eighteenth century the mission produced abundant 
crops, including a small amount of cotton, and the flocks of 
sheep and cattle increased largely. In 1770 there were 
five hundred and thirty converts registered at San Fernando ; 
sixty years later there were but nineteen souls all told? in 
1849, "the only inhabitants" were "three old Indians," and 
by 1867 the mission was "in ruins and deserted." 

So much for the recorded history of the Last Mission of 
the Franciscan Brotherhood in Lower California. To- 
day, approaching from the southwest, the traveler comes 
to a great, thick stone wall and passing through a break he 
notices to his left an ancient stone-lined Irrigating ditch. 
Almost Immediately thereafter, the arroyo, down which 
the trail leads, opens Into a wide valley containing several 



78 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

hundred acres of land running east and west. At the far- 
ther, or eastern end, rise the ruins of the old mission, guard- 
ed, seemingly, by a dozen adobe residences. The trail 
leads toward the mission across the old fields of the padres, 
now overgrown with willows, save, only, for a few acres 
planted with corn. The line of the irrigating ditch is plain, 
as one rides on, and finally terminates in a deep, square cis- 
tern where the padres utilized the native stone and cement. 
The tradition is, that Padre Serra, before he rode north- 
ward, gave instructions concerning the "blasting" of rock 
by heating it with fire and then cracking the heated substance 
with a dash of cold water and that thus aqueduct and cis- 
tern were made possible. 

The mission is now entirely in ruins, a mere fraction of 
the walls remaining upright. The iglesia was approxi- 
mately thirty paces by ten, surface measurement, with a 
small ell to the east in which there are several old graves. 
To the west there were other adobe structures and a patio 
approximately seventy-five paces by thirty, surface area. 
The iglesia faced the southwest. At this time it is extreme- 
ly difficult to trace even the outlines. To obtain a level 
space for the buildings an excavation was evidently made 
into the hill. The structures of San Fernando were of 
adobe and, in default of vestiges of broken tiling, I should 
say that the roofing was of thatch. 

About eight families, all, Mexican and Indian alike, seem- 
ingly in poor circumstances, live about the ruins in adobe 
dwellings. One small Mexican family merits notice for 
uniformity of fine features. The young husband Is hand- 
some, the baby pretty, the seventeen-year-old Seriora an un- 
conscious beauty. In her delicately chiseled features the 
student of heredity would trace ancestry of high degree. 
Ignorant of the great outer world, however, this queenly 



THE SIERRA CAMINO REAL 79 

child cares for her home, content with an improvident hus- 
band, her dimpHng baby and a tiny flower garden. 

With the breaking of the rainstorm, I bade Sefior Dick 
"adios" and at the head of my caravan and with Timoteo 
and Jesus (pronounced Hey-sous), my native mozos, duti- 
fully bringing up the rear, I rode slowly out from the pre- 
cincts of San Fernando. It was late in the afternoon of the 
13th of February, 1906, though to dates I gave small heed. 
Had I not been spendthrift of time and eager for adven- 
ture I should have turned to the southwest with Sefior Dick 
and ridden along the road bearing around via Catarina 
(not to be confounded with the mission of that name) . As 
it was, I headed eastward having determined to trace out 
the old Sierra Camino Real and enjoy that freedom which 
only exists where there are no settlements and where a man 
must rely entirely upon himself in whatever adventures may 
befall him, a freedom which abounds in that narrow, rugged 
and almost unknown section of Baja California — the 
"waist" of the California Peninsula. Let him who would 
plunge into that delightfully mysterious region be slow in 
leaving San Fernando, however, unless he be well supplied 
with provisions, ammunition and fire-arms, with generous- 
sized canteens and with mules — or, still better, with stal- 
wart, long-hoofed burros. And let him never take the 
plunge, if he be unfortunately lacking a bump of locality 
and an appreciation of the wildest haunts of Dame Nature. 

On St. Valentine's Day, we crossed the Plains of Buenos 
Ayres, south of the mountain peaks of MatomI and San 
Juan de Dios, which were first visited by Padre Link, in the 
year 1760. They are almost as near the end of the world 
now as they were then. Some adventurous British hunter, 
having exhausted the fields of India and Africa and being 
desirous of new wilds, occasionally turns to these sierras 
for lion and mountain sheep; otherwise, they are rarely dis- 



8o CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

turbed by foreigners. On the Plains of Buenos Ayres, we 
came to the pozo (well) of San Augustine, near which we 
found a deserted cabin and several splendid slabs of most 
beautiful onyx, which had evidently been brought from the 
onyx quarries a few leagues distant, quarries not worked 
at present. 

At San Augustine we left the camino leading to the quarry 
and turned southward, traveling for some distance with no 
trail at all. Then we found traces of the old Sierra Camino 
Real. It was a strange country through which we passed, 
no vegetation save cacti, a wilderness of stones and on all 
sides sierras and buttes, resting against the sky with flat, 
leveled surfaces, mere truncated cones, their peaks snapped 
off by volcanic explosions of some by-gone age. Eventually 
we arrived at an arroyo in which a few tall, slender palms 
raised high their tufted heads. We made camp here, be- 
ing no more than a furlong from a large pool of fresh water 
known as Jgiia Dulce (Sweet Water), and noted by the 
old chroniclers as a welcome spring beside which Fr. Juni- 
per© Serro and Caspar de Portola with their little retinue 
made camp In May, 1769, while en route to Upper Cali- 
fornia. Night was already upon us and while Timoteo 
and Jesus drove the stock down the arroyo for better food, 
I began building a fire. 

Suddenly, a voice from the darkness called out: ^'Buenas 
tardes, Sehor" (Good afternoon, sir). Turning about, 
startled, my hand on my revolver, I saw looming out of the 
obscurity, a young Mexican, with red serapa, white som- 
brero, tattered trousers and worn guaraches. He was de- 
cidedly handsome, but thin and distressingly bright-eyed. 
He asked If he might buy some flour. At this stage of the 
conversation, my men appeared on the scene and It shortly 
developed that the young Mexican, In company with his 
girl-wife and his father and mother had made camp at 




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THE SIERRA CAMINO REAL 8 1 

Agua Dulce, where they had just arrived after four days' 
wandering in the sierras with nothing to eat except the pulp 
of the viznaga cactus. He soon disappeared with provi* 
sions, prayerfully exclaiming that we had saved four lives. 
Later on his parents appeared. Both of them were in a 
pitiable condition and both seemed to be above the peon 
class. With pathetically listless voices, the old couple told 
their story. They had lived on the mainland, it seemed, 
where, for years, the father had been a school teacher. 
Their only son having eloped with a girl, the old people 
accompanied the runaway couple across the Mar de Cortez 
and thence up the Peninsula. In the course of their wan- 
derings, the mother had been taken ill, in fact she looked so 
hollow-eyed that I doubt whether the poor creature sur- 
vived many more trials. Finally, while lost in the bewil- 
dering sierras, they had been overtaken by a fierce rainstorm 
and their provisions had given out. After one look at the 
snub-nosed girl in the case, the cause of their disasters, I 
pitied the old couple, anew, and thought the young fellow a 
fool. The following day as we passed Agua Dulce, I saw 
the wanderers camping in company with a party of Indians 
who had dropped upon the scene from I know not where. 
They were so picturesque a group that I longed to train my 
camera upon them, but I had not the heart to offend such 
half-starved people by attempting to record their forlorn 
condition. 

From Agua Dulce we continued onward through a wild 
country. At times there would be no trail at all. Fre- 
quently the boulders would be piled high on the mesa In 
strange designs. Although I occasionally saw heads and 
skeletons of mountain sheep along the way, we fell in with 
no human beings and observed no, signs of their recent pres- 
ence. We had our difficulties. First I suffered from diz- 
ziness and nausea; shortly thereafter, Coronado, my bell 



82 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

burro, lurched against a cholla and had to be thrown and 
"hog-tied" before the thorns could be extracted; then Jesus, 
in riding up a steep incline, struck his jaw against a sharp 
cliff, laying open his lips and drenching his face with blood. 
Timoteo, however, came scathless through all. Finally, 
we saw the waters of the Gulf, the famed Mar de Cortez, 
glistening down below us, and swinging away to the right, 
we came upon the brink of an immense rocky gorge. 

Into this gorge we descended the following morning. 
Years ago the trail had been washed open and torn away 
and, according to Timoteo, even before that happening, this 
portion of the Sierra Camino Real had been neglected and 
out of use, travelers taking a less rocky course over near 
the Pacific coast. Down went the burros, however, jump- 
ing from rock to rock like so many goats, for it is in accord- 
ance with his deserts that throughout the "waist" of the 
Peninsula the burro is termed the King of the Camino. 
Sliding, swaying, poising for a spring, jumping to the ac- 
companiment of rolling stones and vivid Mexican exclama- 
tions, down they went, pack and saddle animals, bringing up 
with a sudden lurch at a spot where the gorge makes a bend 
and where nature has gently waved her wand of beauty. 

In nearly parallel lines the mountain sides rise upward, 
seemingly a scarce fifty feet apart, their white boulders re- 
flecting in the large clear pools of a meandering stream. 
Tall sedge grass covered the floor of the gorge and en- 
croached upon the course of the stream, while the profusion 
of lofty fan-palms was such that we found ourselves, unex- 
pectedly, in an enchanting tropical forest. High above were 
the fluttering green boughs of the palms, high and higher 
yet the boundless granite sides of the gorge. A half mile 
of this grassy course brought us into a broader arroyo, 
dotted with palms. After following this arroyo for a mile, 
the ancient Camino turned sharply to the right and, passing 



THE SIERRA CAMINO REAL 83 

between white boulders, we arrived unexpectedly before 
two roofless adobes, the ruins of the ancient Jesuit Mission 
of Santa Maria. The great palm ridge-pole of one of the 
buildings was still in place, the palms growing beyond show- 
ing between the earthen walls and the pole. Roofs, doors 
and windows were missing. Otherwise the iglesia, or 
church, and parochial house have fared well at the hand of 
Time and man. A yard from the level of the ground and 
exactly In line with and beneath the ridge-pole of the paro- 
chial house, I noted a slight excavation. 

There are not more than two acres of level ground about 
the mission, even including that upon which the buildings 
stand, and they require scant space. The patio, so usual in 
Baja California, seems here to have been omitted, though 
the two buildings were so erected as to obtain the wonted 
ell. The main building faces east and its ground measure- 
ment is thirty paces by ten. A pace distant from its north- 
west corner stands the other adobe, occupying a space four- 
teen paces by seven. The walls of the two buildings are 
composed of adobe with much straw and many shells and 
stones intermingled. Though the rains have beaten against 
these ruined walls and heaped much fine sand at their base, 
they still measure nigh a yard In thickness and seem to have 
been between seven and eight feet In height at the eaves. 
From ground to ridge-pole the main building, certainly an 
iglesia from the ruins of an altar at the western end, must 
have been over twenty feet In height. Three doorways 
pierced the walls, one at the east, one at the north and one 
by the altar, and in the south wall there were three windows, 
the apertures for which now measure thirty-six by thirty- 
three Inches. In front of this building, the ground Is level 
with the earthen floor within, the natural slope having been 
overcome by an artificial stone foundation. This bench 
merely extends a few paces out from the doorway. On 



84 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

looking through the windows in the ruined walls the visitor 
sees near by a wealth of date and fan palms, a spring and a 
ruined aqueduct. 

The lesser building was evidently used as quarters for the 
padre. It contains two small rooms, narrow quarters for 
men of such rank in life as the brilliant Jesuits who came to 
California. In the bottom of the excavation made at the 
west end of this adobe, there are two hollows which, judg- 
ing from their form, may long have been the resting place 
of two bowls or rounded jars. 

Unquestionably this excavation was opened within recent 
years, and concerning it I had already heard this story: In 
1893, an American, from San Francisco, visited Santa 
Maria. Upon his arrival he went directly to the west end 
of the parochial house, noting, with undisguised satisfaction, 
that it stood intact. Then he examined a writing while his 
Mexican guide, in obedience to instructions, ascended to the 
ridge-pole and dropped a plummet to the ground after 
which the American made a mark under the line of the 
plummet cord against the west wall, a measured yard from 
the level of the ground. The ensuing morning, without 
prospecting or even looking for game, the American an- 
nounced his intention of returning immediately to Alta Cali- 
fornia. In the midst of preparations Incidental to break- 
ing camp the Mexican managed to examine, secretly, the 
adobe wall. Where the mark had been made there gaped 
the excavation which any traveller may now see — only then 
rust was in the hollows. 

What had been stored therein? Consider the history 
and traditions of Santa Maria, then hazard a guess. 
The tradition Is — and even the mines on the California Pe- 
ninsula have been found through tradition — that a charita- 
ble woman of high degree lay on her death bed in her splen- 
did mansion in crowded Europe. Family and servants, 



THE SIERRA CAMINO REAL 85 

padre and chirurgeon stood anxiously by, awaiting the end. 
Suddenly the good woman rallied temporarily. When 
Death called, an hour later, her testament was written, 
signed, sealed and solemnly attested, and by the terms there- 
of a fortune was given to the founding of missions in the 
three most inaccessible retreats in the world. Tradition 
continues : the mission sites that filled the requirements of 
this strange testament were found all to be in California, 
and the Missions of San Borja, Calamyget and Santa Maria 
owed their existence to the beneficence of this testatrix. 

History here steps in: "Again, in 1747, Dona Maria de 
Borja, Duchess of Gandia, left the Missions some 62,000 
pesos" and, "there was money from the Duchess of Gan- 
dia's bequest for a new mission in the north and . . . site 
was found at the spot called Calagnujuet," and, finally, 
"New buildings were erected some Mty miles above Calag- 
nujuet, and under the name of Santa Maria." 

Should the actions of Dona Maria's trustees come before 
a court and the few foreigners who have visited the bleak 
sites of the Missions of San Borja, Calamyget and, most 
particularly Santa Maria, be allowed to testify, there would 
be abundant and unconflicting evidence in the record that 
the trustees made their selections in exact accord with the 
traditional behest of the grand dame, for assuredly no three 
more "inaccessible retreats" could have been found in the 
wide world. 

In the fall of the year 1767, Padre Victoriano Arnes, 
who had suffered in his mission efforts at Calamyget where, 
between bad water and treacherous Indians, he had lost his 
crop, his improvements and almost his life, went northward 
into the mountains where a little stream with the big name 
of Carbujakaamang ran its brief course. Here there lived 
over three hundred Indians, and with their aid the Padre 
erected an adobe church and an adobe residence — and then, 



86 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

one spring morning in 1768, a Spanish messenger of King 
Charles III. arrived, bearing royal directions that every 
member of the Society of Jesus must leave his mission with- 
out an hour's delay, and depart forthwith from Spanish 
territory. Furthermore, no Padre should take with him 
any treasure or any possessions, save his habit, breviary and 
two books, one on theology, the other on science. At this 
time Padre Arnes was thirty years of age and a man of high 
attainments. In substance this short paragraph embodies 
all — except that the succeeding Brotherhoods did not oc- 
cupy Santa Maria — that history has to record of the last 
Jesuit Mission in California, yes, doubtless of the last foun- 
dation of the Society in New Spain. 

Before his departure did Padre Arnes store his small 
treasure in buried jars? Did he vainly wait for a revoca- 
tion of the decree, expelling his Society, and on his death- 
bed confide the secret location to some fellow-padre? Was 
the secret handed down for nigh a century and a half until 
it came into the possession of the San Franciscan? These 
are questions that appeal with pathetic and romantic inter- 
est as one thinks of the brilliant young priest who long ago 
fought so hard endeavoring to establish missions In two of 
the most inaccessible spots in the world. Where did he 
turn his steps, after being driven from his rugged California 
sierras? Where were his later years spent? History 
gives no answer. Tradition says that his Indians missed 
him; that after his departure death fell upon them and into 
the gorge of the Carbujakaamang came a strange lion, a 
lion which neither spear nor arrow could destroy, and that 
the Indians fled before it. 

And now for a century no Indians, no people have lived 
about the Mission of Santa Maria. When the Franciscan 
Brotherhood succeeded the Society of Jesus, the newcomers 
cast a single glance at the Last Mission of the Jesuits and 




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THE SIERRA CAMINO REAL 87 

then cautiously hastened onward. To-day no Mexican wil- 
lingly stays any time in the mission precincts. When the 
shadows of night creep around the looming adobe walls and 
echoing down from the rocky cliffs comes the weird scream 
of a lion and the ghostly palms shiver and moan In the lone- 
ly night, then Senor Mejicano crosses himself and nervously 
curses the luck that brought him to the spot, piles wood 
on his fire and lies down to broken slumber, naked machete 
close at hand and apprejos in stockade about him. 



CHAPTER VIII 

WHEREIN I BAG MOUNTAIN SHEEP AND MEET THE LAIRD 

FOR six days we camped near the old mission, resting 
our animals and ourselves. To distract my mozos, 
who were in continual dread of lions, I had them 
build a shady remada (arbor), cutting ocotilla shoots for 
the corner supports and ridge-poles and thatching the whole 
with broad palm boughs. To their delight, manifested by 
many a "Viva la Mejico," I tied a small Mexican flag to 
one of the supports, then flung out the Stars and Stripes 
above my tent. At a near-by spring, Jesus discovered a 
flight of bees and, with Timoteo's assistance, gathered in 
an abundance of clear, sweet, wild honey which made a 
most acceptable combination with an excellent kind of bread 
which TImoteo provided by baking the loaf In the ashes and 
which he termed "pan Italiano/' To make complete the 
enjoyment of comfort and shade, good eating and fine air, 
one should be a trifle weary. It is possible to become de- 
lightfully weary on the steep ascents above the Mission of 
Santa Maria, so every morning I clambered to a new height, 
ever enjoying the wild grandeur of each newly unfolded 
view. Moreover, on one of these lofty rambles, I bagged 
a noble supply of big game. 

The shooting came about In this fashion : Accompanied 
by TImoteo, I had reached a rocky bench at an elevation of 
nigh five thousand feet. Full two thousand feet sheer 
above us rose a high, black truncated cone, swathed close 
In forbidding cliffs; for a league it stretched away with a 

89 



90 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

width half that distance. Doubtfully, we looked upward. 

"Senor, there must be a great mesa above; but no man 
has ever climbed thither." 

I could not help smiling at the gravity with which my 
man thus expressed himself in the vernacular, for, perhaps 
in consequence of the rarity of venturesome native hunters, 
virgin hunting grounds are not at all uncommon on the 
Peninsula. I answered him gravely, however. "Then we 
are going to be the first to ascend, TImoteo, for In these re- 
gions the old padres saw wild goats, and If wild goats are 
above, thither we must go." As the worthy fellow looked 
impressed, I proceeded to explain that In the eighteenth 
century Padre Hernando Consag wrote of seeing wild goats 
near the thirtieth parallel of north latitude, which, as I re- 
membered, was but a few leagues distant. TImoteo now 
smiled, showing his white even teeth. Mexican mozos 
seldom wash their hands and have no idea of the properties 
of a tooth-brush, and yet their teeth are pearls. 1 had used 
the word chivos; and among Mexicans the goat is an animal 
without character and his name ever calls forth a smile. 
Later, in studying first editions of the old Spanish chroni- 
cles I found that the Jesuits mentioned seeing gamuzas dur- 
ing their California travels, and from their descriptions of 
these animals and their habits I am satisfied that the rendi- 
tion of gamuza into ch'iva or goat, has been incorrect — her- 
renda or antelope would be more accurate. 

"Others than the padres have seen goats, hereabouts, 
seiior. Within the year past Sefior Villavacenslo's boy saw 
a large wild goat running with a flock of mountain sheep." 

*'Biieno," I responded, "we must climb to that mesa and 
find that goat." 

With that I handed TImoteo my heavy six-shooter — for 
he was unarmed and, like most Mexicans, deathly afraid of 
the larger variety of native lions — and started him off to 



WHEREIN I BAG MOUNTAIN SHEEP 91 

the right of the sierra while I followed a sheep trail to the 
left, each of us in search of some break in the cliffs where 
an ascent might be made. An old KaUwa Indian once ex- 
plained to me the reason for the puzzling numbers of broad, 
well worn sheep trails in Lower California by saying that in 
his father's day the mountain sheep roamed in great droves 
over the sierras until of a sudden a terrible pestilence came 
among them, nearly exterminating the rams and killing the 
ewes by the thousands. 

A quarter of an hour brought me to a point where the 
trail had been completely blocked by a landslide from a shal- 
low arroyo above. I clambered over the boulders and 
loose shale and sauntered along. Within reach of my right 
hand rose the high cliffs, to my left yawned a vast moun- 
tain abyss, a full league across, and beyond rose great vol- 
canic cones and mesas. There was grandeur enough in 
the view to turn one's head, so I promptly sat down to con- 
sider my surroundings ; my glance at the same time chanced 
to wander upward just at the right moment to see a fine ram 
walk out upon a projecting crag, beyond and far above me, 
and proceed to scan the abyss. He was too far away for a 
shot and my efforts to locate him in the finder of my camera 
were vain. It was good just to watch him, however. He 
was careless of his dizzy position and, though plainly aware 
of my existence, he seemed unable either to place me or to 
decide what kind of a creature I was. Eventually he con- 
cluded that there was nothing to worry over, and turning 
about face, most deliberately walked out of sight. As he 
disappeared the morning sunlight brought out his glistening 
white sides and across my mind flashed the thought: — far 
above on that untrodden mesa, there is a WILD goat! and 
then: — that wild goat you must shoot. 

Beyond me there was no prospect of ascent. I turned 
back to the pile of shale and looked up. The outlook was 



*92 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

bad. There was no help for it, however, and I began 
swarming up among the broken diffs following the course of 
the landslide. A friend of mine, a Scotch big game hunter, 
once said that no man placing too high a valuation on his 
neck should never hunt big-horn In Mexico, and that only 
bachelors, or men with wives well adapted to widow's weeds 
should follow such venturesome creatures at all. There's 
sense in his statement. It was a bad climb; looking down 
was out of the question. From childhood I've roamed the 
mountains — thank God for the free exhilaration of their 
heights — but this climb was about the worst I have ever 
undertaken. After having rebelliously concluded that my 
neck was forfeit and the goat lost, I gratefully surprised 
myself by attaining the crest of the cliffs, where I recovered 
my breath, pressed a cartridge into the chamber of my car- 
bine — It's foolish to tackle bad climbs with a cartridge in 
the chamber — and looked around. Before me stretched a 
long narrow mesa, covered with volcanic rock through which 
sheep trails criss-crossed to the right and left. Stray blades 
of grass and two or three scrubby bushes were in sight. A 
small dry arroyo marked the bottom of a single swale in 
the mesa. No goat or sheep was In evidence. Seemingly 
I was on the roof of the world — and it was a deserted world. 
I went slowly forward, drawing In great breaths of the 
air and looking carefully for game. Sheep love to sun 
themselves beside a boulder or to meditate In some shallow 
cave. Soon I reached the place where the goat or sheep 
had been. It was as dizzy a spot as the overhanging rock off 
Glacier Point above the Yosemite Valley. A foot or two 
outward advance satisfied my curiosity and then, as I peered 
over, a rolling stone — the bane of many a poor buck and 
sheep — caught my attention and I looked up to see, not a 
goat, but a lordly ram three hundred yards distant making 
for the swale. I was crouching on the crag. Up came 



WHEREIN I BAG MOUNTAIN SHEEP 93 

my left knee, down upon it dropped my left elbow, the palm 
of my left hand closed upon the carbine barrel and the sport 
began. 

As the jfirst shot rang out two more sheep suddenly ap- 
peared and rushed away in the wake of the leader. If you 
are fond of Nature, kindly reader, imagine yourself on a 
projecting crag with a mighty abyss below and range on 
range of wild, barren sierras beyond; a golden sun tinting 
the world and warming your blood and Dame Nature in her 
grandest, most majestic mood pausing beside you. If your 
life is dear to you Imagine yourself filled with vigor, draw- 
ing in deep breaths of mountain air, your muscles swelling 
out like great steel bands and that life which ten minutes 
earlier seemed about to be forfeited, thrilling you with wild 
abandon. If you enjoy shooting imagine yourself on the 
edge of a mesa with nigh a league of fair view before you 
and three mountain sheep, the noblest of all creatures of the 
wilderness, bounding away from you, their great horns 
held proudly aloft, while your sharp-voiced rifle calls to 
them to halt. The three conditions were mine; the sug- 
gested possibilities were facts; moreover, fifty miles distant 
there was a mining camp where men and women and chil- 
dren were half starving for meat. 

Such moments are worth living. I remember regretting 
that there was no one to share the excitement with me and 
feeling certain that I should bag all three sheep, even though 
they had not faltered an instant in their flight. The sec- 
ond in the procession, a cream colored ewe, got In the line 
of my sight about the fifth shot and I let drive at her. The 
seventh shot was directed at the third sheep, a yearling ram. 
At the sixth report the leader, already near the edge of the 
swale, sank In his tracks; thereupon the other two, appar- 
ently Imagining that the attack came from the front, turned 
about face and trotted laboriously toward me. My right 



94 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

arm always trembles when I am "shelling" big game, and 
at this unexpected happening it wobbled disgracefully. For- 
tunately an empt)" magazine created a temporary diversion. 
As I pressed in fresh cartridges I noticed that the barrel 
was decidedly hot. 

After another shot I put down the carbine and took a 
camera snap at the mesa and the sheep; then the carbine 
resumed its sharp play, snarling quickly like an enraged 
hound. The cream colored sheep dropped suddenly all in 
a heap and the young ram at once rushed diagonally across 
the mesa, his right side plainly exposed to me. As I again 
reloaded the magazine, the heat of the barrel blistered my 
thumb and first finger. At the same time I heard the sharp, 
discordant notes of two ravens. "Sangre, sangre" (blood, 
blood), as the Mexican hunters interpret the cry, and on 
hearing it in the sierras they will aver success with all the 
surety of a gillie hearing the same sound in the stalking sea- 
son on the Scotch heather. Certainly the Mexican raven 
has a remarkable facult}' of being on hand at the killing and 
when he deserts you, rest assured there are no sheep in the 
vicinity. 

The young ram, after drawing eight bullets in his direc- 
tion, disappeared from sight over the farther side of the 
mesa ; thereupon I climbed off my crag and proceeded to 
examine my game. Perhaps two or three minutes had 
been occupied by my shooting; it had seemed an immeasura- 
ble time. The cream colored ewe I found stone dead, 
pierced by three bullets. Although doomed by two fatal 
wounds the blood of which besmirshed the white blotches 
on his tawny sides, the big ram was endeavoring to rise when 
I approached him. His majestic head and massive curling 
horns held defiantly aloft and his greenish eyes scintillating 
with rage made me involuntarily feel for him the respect 
that braverv and noble mien ever command. While elation 



WHEREIN I BAG MOUNTAIN SHEEP 95 

is naturally the first sensation of every sheep hunter upon 
killing his game, it must give way to pity and regret as the 
grand, independent creature sinks limp and lifeless before 
him. What hunter of the high sierras can help having a 
feeling of comradeship for the ram that shares with him 
the solitary fastnesses and puts up so brave a race for life ! 
Silent, and even ashamed, I turned away and the mighty 
ram sank down, gasped shortly and was dead. 

A trail of blood led across the mesa to the yearling; he 
had reached the farther edge with seven bullets through 
him ! A .30-.30 is no weapon for an animal of such tremen- 
dous vitality as the big-horn. 

Eventually Timoteo, wild-eyed over my rapid-fire bom- 
bardment, arrived, having found a fairly passable ascent 
from his side of the sierra. There are three ways of carry- 
ing a sheep: one is to sling him to your side and give up 
after a few rods; another, is to carry him on your shoulders, 
the left legs and the right legs being tied before your left 
and right shoulders, respectively; the third way is to have 
some one else do the carrying. I adopted the second method, 
but for comfort I would recommend the third. By the time 
we had carried and dragged the sheep down to our pack 
mule the afternoon was far advanced, our shoulders ached 
cruelly, and we were exhausted. And how the mule ever 
scrambled down In the darkness among rocks and boulders 
is beyond me. 

Finally, after traveling for hours, lighting our way by 
firing dead maguay stalks and dried fan-palm boughs, we 
piled the meat upon a rock for the night, turned loose the 
mule and followed him to camp, carrying the sheep-heads 
suspended over our shoulders. It was a weird ending of an 
exciting day: at regular Intervals, high up among the rugged 
cliffs, smouldered the maguay plants, winking eyes In the 
cloaking darkness; In the trough of the arroyo down which 



96 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

we picked our way tall ghostly palms raised high their 
shadowy heads, their flaming boughs lighting up the somber 
depths of the arroyo and bringing out in sharp outline our 
slowly moving figures. 

And thus, with an abundance of supplies, with great pans 
of wild honey, with wild mutton hanging to cool in the old 
Mission, with my few selected books, with my mozos antici- 
pating my every wish, with the atmosphere of romance and 
early history about me, I spent six delightful days, so verit- 
able a king that I made note in my journal that there was 
nothing particularly farther that I desired, unless it be that 
I might continue forever in this retired spot in the rugged 
wilderness. 

With a sigh and many a regret, I left my kingdom of 
Santa Maria on the morning of the 22nd of February. By 
the vilest pretense of a trail and through the rockiest coun- 
try that I had ever experienced, we climbed out from the 
arroyo and passed over a sierra ridge to the southeast. It 
is small wonder that horses are never used with any advan- 
tage in this region. Coming down to a plain, we traveled 
for ten leagues over a most rocky and barren stretch where 
there was virtually no trail, unless the line of graves along 
the way be considered a camino. Graves of men who died 
gasping for water, graves, not merely of foreigners but of 
Mexicans as well, and even one of an Indian, for these were 
the dread Llanos de Santa Maria (Plains of St. Mary) 
which have exacted a frightful toll from those who have 
ventured out upon their arid stretches. San Francisclto, or 
''Little San Francisco," lying on the southern edge of these 
plains, proved, though located on the map, to be nothing 
but a few old arastras, a small mining shaft and a water- 
hole from which we were driven in disgust by the presence 
of a dead coyote. A few miles beyond San Franclscito, we 
found a deserted miner's shack and a well, and out from this 



WHEREIN I BAG MOUNTAIN SHEEP 97 

place there was a road leading toward the gulf coast. Sev- 
eral ragged trails led off from this highway. 

For a time we were at a loss concerning what course to 
pursue, fearing lest unwittingly we might pass the mining 
camp of Calamajuet,* which I was desirous of visiting. 
Finally, leaving my Mexicans with my outfit, I rode on a 
few miles, alone, and passing through a gap in the hills, 
came unexpectedly upon Calamajuet. Yes, there was the 
house of the proprietor, my friend Sefior Dick, with its thick 
stone walls and palm thatched roof; off to the right stood a 
mining engineer's tent and over near the arroyo a shack 
made of ocotilla stakes and thatch, and in this shack Mexi- 
can women and their Indian helpers were serving a hearty 
lunch to the men. Seiior Dick, it seemed, was absent at his 
other home near the play a, or roadstead, where he was 
awaiting the arrival of a cargo of provisions and machinery 
from Guaymas. His head man, who greeted me, knew 
little English; my Spanish was not extensive, and as I had 
taken him from lunch, his temper was rather uncertain. In 
consequence our Interview was growing stormy when a tall 
blond chap, in corduroys, hobbled out from the shack which 
served as a dining room, and accosted me In English. 

With his thick, gold-rimmed eye-glasses, carefully parted 
curly hair, his neatly cropped beard and eminently 
respectable moustache, with his well-tied necktie and gen- 
eral aspect of the proprieties, I knew In an Instant that this 
new-comer was one of those wanderers who go forth from 
the British Isles to the "uttermost parts of the earth" In 
pursuit of big game. His opportune appearance cleared the 
atmosphere and I soon had my outfit at Calamajuet. In 
the two or three days which I spent at the camp, awaiting 
Sefior Dick's arrival, I became acquainted with the young 
Britisher and learned that he was from the north of Scot- 
land, had served In the Boer war, smashed a shoulder In 

* Pronounced Calamawhay. — A. W. N. 



98 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

polo, had had African fever, and, for the time being, was 
most decidedly under the weather, thanks to cactus thorns 
and a diet restricted, for several weeks past, to meat and 
hardtack. We soon made up a compact, agreeing to travel 
southward together, for he was anxious to see more of the 
Waist of the Peninsula. Moreover, his purse having mys- 
teriously disappeared early in the month, he had a most 
natural desire to reach Guaymas and get in touch with his 
bank account. Later, finding that he wore well on the trail 
(than which I can think of no higher compliment), I ex- 
pressed my appreciation by giving him a nick-name, sinking 
his very proper Scotch name beneath that of the "Laird." 

The afternoon of the 26th, Senor Dick arrived on the 
scene and shortly thereafter two American miners, "Senor 
Santiago" and "Charley" Howard, put In an appearance. 
Santiago, an agreeable, widely-traveled man of thirty, was 
in high spirits, having just made a good "strike," which had 
instantly filled his mind with visons of gaieties in New York, 
Paris and Vienna. To the Simon Pure prospector, gold is 
made simply for "blowing in" purposes. Howard, for years 
a resident of the Peninsula, had come to Calamajuet to over- 
see the installation of the expected mining machinery. Santi- 
ago's spirits were infectious, and during the evening he and 
Seiior Dick, the Laird, Howard, Sanchez (a young Mexican 
mining engineer), and I chatted, told stories and related 
hunting experiences until long past midnight. 

Santiago began the yarning by telling me, in all serious- 
ness and doubtless with a foundation of truth, how he awoke 
one morning in the sierras, half-starved and miles from 
everywhere, to find a welcome supply of rice In the folds of 
his blankets where It had been stored during the night by 
an Industrious pair of pack-rats, and how, later. It developed 
that a Mexican, sleeping ten miles distant, that very night 
had mysteriously lost an equal amount of rice. 



WHEREIN I BAG MOUNTAIN SHEEP 99 

I countered at once by relating the story of the credulous 
Indian which I had obtained from an eighteenth century 
Peninsula chronicle. Here it is : A Padre, having obtained 
some particularly good bread, dispatched an Indian courier 
bearing a loaf and a note to the Padre of a neighboring mis- 
sion. On the way the courier sat down to rest beside a 
water-hole; the bread and note he placed upon a large stone. 
Suddenly the pangs of hunger assailed the Indian and he 
devoured the bread to the last crumb. The note, however, 
was faithfully delivered. Upon its perusal the Padre natu- 
rally inquired for the bread. At this the Indian was dumb- 
founded, but, as he recovered his self-possession, he denied 
all knowledge of any bread. A week later the first Padre 
dispatched the same courier with another note and another 
loaf. Again the Indian stopped beside the water-hole, again 
hunger came upon him and once more the Padre at the 
neighboring mission received only a note. This time the 
worthy man was angered and accordingly berated the un- 
trustworthy courier severely, whereupon the Indian, in be- 
wilderment rather than shame, spoke out, "I confess. 
Padre," said he, "that the first letter told the truth for 
it did see me eat the bread, but this last one is a story- 
teller, affirming what it did not see. Padre, before eating 
this last loaf, I carefully hid the letter under a large stone, 
where it could not, by any means, have seen me eating of 
the bread." 

Santiago laughed. "Give me a whole new hand," he 
said, "perhaps, then, I'll recover." 

"Did you really find that in a book, an old book?" asked 
Serior Dick, in all seriousness. 

"Certainly," I replied, "in a book dated about 1789." 

"I expect it is a true story, then," said he, "for an old 
Indian at San Ignacio once repeated it to me as having come 
from his grandfather when he was a child." 



lOO CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

"That is the way of it," remarked "Charley" Howard, 
"all the old Indians confess to Seiior Dick. They think him 
equal to any Padre. You know the paisanos (natives) think 
that a medico is the whole show, so after I had cut a rattle- 
snake bitten hand from a man, using for the operation a 
meat saw and a razor, I quite plumed myself on my stand- 
ing in a community where licensed physicians are unknown. 
Then I came here into the Waist of the Peninsula and found 
that my name had no weight beside Senor Dick's. 'He would 
have saved the arm,' said the paisanos on hearing of my 
famous exploit, and then they related some of his surgical 
operations. I'll give just one instance. A man was bitten 
by a salamankaser, a venomous kind of lizard. His friends 
howled mournfully their sorrow, carried the man some dis- 
tance away and left him, supplied with food and water, to 
meet his horrible death. Along came Seiior Dick. At once 
he noted the tainted air. 'What dead animal are you leav- 
ing about?' he inquired. They told him of the man and 
that he was not dead. 'Huh,' said Senor Dick, 'you are 
children.' Then he visited the cave. The bite had been 
on the arm and the discolored, decaying flesh was already 
falling away in chunks before the ravages of the poison. 
*Get me water, earth mold, clay and boards,' roared the 
Sefior, in quick anger. The paisanos obeyed and, after 
scraping, cutting and cleaning the arm, Senor Dick plastered 
it with wet clay and mold and then tied the boards about 
arm and plaster. The man is at work to-day with that 
arm — it's wizened, of course — and Seiior Dick is the Grand 
Padre of the Waist of the Peninsula." 

The good natured Englishman joined in the laugh that 
went around as Howard sprung this new name on him. 
"You are jollying me," he chuckled, "but I do love to 



CHAPTER IX 

WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 

FILLED with eager anticipations of adventures in the 
wilderness, the Laird and I bade farewell to the 
mining camp of Calamajuet and turned southward, 
together. Two subsidized fellow travelers, Sefior Rita 
Otero and his genial spouse, Cochimi Indians homeward 
bound, accompanied us. With my boy Jesus, four pack 
burros and a colt trailing along with us, our aggregate of 
man and beast formed a caravan of no mean length. By 
the presence of the Seiiora a new element, the softening 
feminine atmosphere, was added to our rugged life. I 
casually remarked on this to the Laird. He showed no 
enthusiasm, however. A fluttering bandana covered her 
head; an expansive smile wreathed her kindly face; a light 
red "mother Hubbard" draped her figure; tegiias, or native 
shoes, completed the costume. She occupied the right side 
of her burro, a manner of riding entirely new to us. Her 
novel seat in the saddle she maintained by resting her right 
foot in the right stirrup and swinging her left knee over the 
pommel. Despite the shortcomings of her training and 
apparel — the Laird, in his extreme modesty, blushingly 
meditated upon presenting her with a pair of socks — the 
good Seiiora was kindly and eminently matronly. 

We entered El Camino Real a short mile from the min- 
ing camp. Americans are wont to think of this Royal 
Camino as a broad roadway. It is not. It is historic, it 

loi 



I02 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

is romantically interesting, it is deeply worn, it extends 
countless leagues, but it is a trail, a bridle path a scant yard 
in width. In mission days sections of this Way assuredly 
were roads of generous breadth, and yet he who now would 
truly describe El Camino Real must picture a deeply worn, 
ancient way, historic and fascinating, but narrow — a long, 
long narrow trail. 

Continuing steadily southward we passed to the right of 
the ruins of Calamyget Mission, some three leagues and a 
half from Seiior Dick's camp, and made camp for the first 
night (February the 27th) at an old stone corral two 
leagues farther on. In this latitude the old padres located 
on their maps a spot styled "San Francisco." Doubtless 
we were in San Francisco — only we didn't know it! A 
warm spring of arsenic water was near at hand. This wa- 
ter the Oteros declined to drink, advising us that their 
people had always deemed it possessed of dangerous prop- 
erties. After ascertaining the presence of the arsenic, I 
laughed at their fears and astounded them by saying that 
American girls not infrequently enhanced the whiteness of 
their complexion by drinking from such springs. Later 
Jesus tasted the water, whereupon the Senora promptly 
accused him of endeavoring to change his color. 

That our conversation might not be understood by our 
peaple who had heard enough English to misconstrue what 
we might be saying, the Laird and I lapsed into French — ■ 
and such French ! His had been picked up in Cambridge 
days on sundry trips to the Latin Quarter in Paris, and 
mine was commensurate with the reading, a dozen years 
earlier, of "Le Roi de Montagne." It served its purpose, 
however. The Laird was pleasant company, a thoroughly 
alert explorer and a most delightful woman-hater. To my 
intense amusement, he remarked most simply, while speak- 
ing of life in English country houses: "It's just eating, danc- 



WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 103 

ing, piano-playing, dressing, ladies, flirting, and all such 
damned nonsense." 

Although the country through which we passed was 
barren and rugged, the mountains frequently rising to five 
and six thousand feet, the frequency of arroyos and the long 
stretches of mesa enabled us to make fair headway. The 
surface of the country was a pedregal, or mosaic of stones. 
Every form of plant or tree life bristled with thorns. The 
visnaga, or barrel-shaped cactus, green fluted, devoid of 
leaves and armed with orderly arranged ranks of fishhook- 
like thorns, dotted the mesas and stood sentinel along the 
arroyos. Giant cardones, or tree cacti, gracefully erect or 
misshaped and fantastic, cast the only shade found along 
the camino. The trunk of this cactus is from one to three 
meters in circumference and sends forth and upward from 
two or three to twelve or fifteen gigantic columnar branches. 
These branches are leafless and of a greenish-brown color; 
like the visnaga, they are fluted and thorny. Here and 
there prostrate cardones revealed, in death, their interior 
structure: white rods, gathered together like a bunch of 
faggots, and surrounded by and surrounding the dead pith. 
Overtowering the cardones were frequent groves of the 
slender cirio or milapa, an inviting and most strange cactus, 
indigenous to the Waist of the Peninsula. This peculiar and 
graceful tree grows to a height of sixty or seventy feet 
without a single branch. Its bark Is not unlike that of the 
aspen; Its Inner pith frequently decays, making magnificent 
retreats for birds, snakes or hiving bees. Again and again 
we would bow low In our saddles or slash quickly with ready 
machetes as the thorny bough of some ocotilla swayed 
across the camino. This cactus sends upward from its 
tentacle roots a circle of greenish, thorny stalks that sway 
In the breeze like so many sinuous snakes. In the course of 
many years these stalks attain lengths of from five to ten 



I04 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

metres; in the spring time they blossom out with scarlet 
tassels. Encroaching close upon the camino the black, 
snake-like limbs of the tart pithaya or tajua, armed with 
needle-like thorns, were a constant warning for us not to 
stray from the trail, while its close ally, the cholla, most pro- 
voking of the whole cactus tribe, again and again dropped 
its bristling sections in the way of the fetlocks of our ani- 
mals. The branches of the cholla are composed of various 
subdivisions, each two or three inches in length, an inch in 
diameter and covered with innumerable thorns, both large 
and small. As these sections not only break away and 
cling to the man or beast that touches them but in seasons 
drop of their own accord, littering the caminos, they are an 
ever present menace to the traveler. To the birds, how- 
ever, the cholla evidently is a blessing, for again and again 
we observed their nests built beyond the reach of predatory 
snakes in the midst of protecting cholla branches. 

But even though frequent and unmistakable signs of 
mountain sheep were to be seen along our way, water was 
as scarce as cacti were abundant. In the thirty leagues 
southward from the mining camp we passed but one good 
watering place, the Agua de Youbai, a well several rods to 
the left of the camino and with nothing to indicate its pres- 
ence. On the high mountain summits above this water, 
according to Otero, the padres had trees felled and used the 
timber for doorways and casements of the Missions of San 
Borja and Calamyget. During the day time our people, 
fearful of thirst, were all activity, urging on the burros to 
surprising speed for such animals. Their energies were 
spasmodic, however. 

The second evening, after unpacking, Otero sat restfully 
on his heels and watched his wife, sitting restfully on her 
heels and watching him. The Laird and I at once pitched 
our tent and Jesus gathered wood, all of which seemed to 




The Aqua de Youbia 




A rocky section of El Camino Real 

(Reproduced from " The Mother of California," by courtesy of the publishers, 
Paul Elder & Company) 



WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 105 

please our couple; to their further evident approval, we 
next made a fire. Then the Lairds' Scotch burst forth. But 
although he verbally trampled all over Otero for being so 
confoundedly slow and dull, the Indian merely smiled and 
failed to understand. The "Madam" — as we had named 
his spouse — for her part, smiled, also, and added several 
spoonfuls of lard to the tortillas — a favorite, detestable 
trick of hers. Things grew lively and the festive Otero 
flashed sharp glances at my companion. At this I ostenta- 
tiously opened up and dusted my ferocious six-shooter and, 
intoning, padre-fashion, recited liberally from the "Beatiis 
ille" oi Horace. Wide-eyed, and sure that I was some sort 
of a Padre — a heavily armed one, too — the devout Indians 
crossed themselves. The tension of the situation relaxed, 
the Laird retired to the tent. 

After he had made himself comfortable within its narrow 
limits, I entered, closing the flaps securely. Scraping aside 
a few stones, I threw down four mountain sheep hides and 
over them spread out my blankets and serapa. Quickly 
undressing I snuggled into the simple bed, for the night was 
cold. Already my companion had tied a lighted candle to 
a maguay leaf and jammed the thorn end into the earth 
between our shoulders. Although I could see that he was 
admiring his candlestick, I purposely failed to notice it. 
He shortly sought to arouse me. 

"Such an uncivilized American savage, traveling without 
a sleeping-bag," he announced. 

"Such a pampered Scot, overladen with a forty-pound 
sleeping bag," I retorted. "Why doesn't he carry a feather 
bed? Will he use his half-pint share of water for his morn- 
ing tub?" 

He pondered deeply. "Have a smoke?" he ventured 
finally. 

"No, but I'd like your Kipling." 



106 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

"And I your Balzac." 

For a moment there was much fumbling in the pockets of 
his sleeping bag and among the compartments of my saddle- 
bags. Then the books, being produced, were read with 
every satisfaction until sounds of slumber without and sput- 
tering candle within announced proper time for sleep. 

"Good night," I muttered. "Your gun handy?" 

We traveled early and we traveled late, for where there 
is no water one dares not linger. In the evenings Otero and 
I usually dismounted and stretched ourselves by leading the 
advance at a jog-trot. South of Youbai we crossed the taper- 
ing ends of two level valleys extending down towards the 
Gulf and containing several thousand acres with grass and 
brush. According to Otero a few antelope ranged in this 
section. The Laird considered these valleys similar to the 
veldts of South Africa. Like the Llanos de Buenos Ayres 
and the Llanos de Santa Maria, which are also inhabited by 
small bands of antelope — this region is barren of springs. 
After passing beyond these valleys we went through a suc- 
cession of hills well covered with undergrowth and small 
trees. We saw several deer, or rather our guides ( ?) did, 
for having burros, the Oteros and Jesus usually managed to 
keep half a league in our lead, so that their guiding serv- 
ices were of the minimum variety. From these hills we 
gradually ascended into higher mountains, each of which 
Otero termed the "Cerro Colorado." During this entire 
forced march the nights were crisply cool. 

The third evening out the Laird and I talked over the 
alluring details of a future hunt together. 

"There's a jolly good bit of country down south of Ma- 
zatlan," he remarked across the camp-fire. 

"Lake Chapala way?" I inquired, snipping a green and 
yellow spider off my knee. 

"Somewhat. Just off the Guadalajara road." 



WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 1 07 

"Ah! That's where there are so many charming wom- 
en," I murmured, smiling indulgently, for even mention of 
the name Guadalajara calls forth visions of winsome "nut 
brown maids." 

"Women! Don't for Heaven's sake trail them in." He 
shoved a piece of maguay fiber into the coals and lighted a 
cigarette in the blaze. "Plague take 'em, anyway, they're 
always in the way. It's the lions we want." The approv- 
ing nod with which I greeted this ungallant remark indicated 
that I, too, was in a slaying mood. For a time the two of 
us were silent, the Laird puffing forth contentful wreaths of 
smoke while I studied the coals. Suddenly a twig snapped, 
sharply, throwing out an unwonted blaze. 

"Oh, confound that female, she's at it again!" I sput- 
tered, as the light showed me the Madam diligently heap- 
ing lard into the batter for the morning tortillas. "Hi, 
there! No mas manteca!" I uttered the words In an 
aggressive tone, and either that, or the reproof. Itself, 
brought me a scowl from the worthy dame and a grunt from 
her lord. She paused In her labors, however. Otero, 
meantime, wrinkled his brow in deep thought. 

"Senor, don't you care for lard?" he ventured, presently 
— only he used the Spanish. 

"No," I snapped out. 

"Nor coffee?" he continued. 

"No," I answered, more unconcernedly. 

"Don't you care for mescal?" This he asked with some 
hesitancy. 

"No," I replied, laughingly. "No, I don't like mescal." 

Such strange lack of appreciation of the good things of 
life was altogether too much for the Madam. "Mira!" 
(Lo, behold!) she exclaimed, rocking herself back and 
forth in the dim fire light. *'No guste manteca, cafe, mes- 
cal. Mir a, mira!" For a moment the old Cochimi was 



io8 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

speechless, then he had a new idea. He gave it immediate 
expression. Had I a substitute for these luxuries; were 
there three other things that I did especially desire? I 
promptly answered in the affirmative. First, I wanted "a 
buck antelope." But Otero here interrupted, his eyes shin- 
ing with approval. "Ah! excellent meat," and the Madam 
echoed, "Muy hueno came." Also, I wanted "two big 
lions." This incomprehensible desire called forth an 
"Ugh! Lions are very fierce. Bad, bad!" from Otero, 
while with an amazed "Mira!" the Madam hunched for- 
ward nearer the protecting coals. I had expressed, how- 
ever, only two separate wishes. They were anxious to hear 
my third. 

"What shall I add?" I inquired of the Laird. 

"Why, tell 'em," was the response, between puffs, "that 
you want some gentle little maid whose tendrils will cling 
to your rugged being, whose eyes — " 

"Cut it, man, cut it," I interrupted, laughingly. Never- 
theless, addressing the expectant Oteros in Spanish, I oracu- 
larly recited, "A buck antelope, two big lions — and a pretty 
girl." The climax was unexpected. Otero's mouth 
opened in surprise, then extended in a wide grin. The 
Madam, meantime, chuckled, approvingly, repeating my 
statement with many "Miras." "That's enough for the 
savage mind for one night," growled the Laird. "Let's 
turn in." And turn in we did. 

Before sleep came, however, we heard the old fellow 
suggest to Madam that I might make a good life's partner 
for their younger muchacha. With an appreciative femi- 
nine eye, the Madam at once urged the claims of the Laird 
as a blond and more handsome man, but the calculating 
Otero silenced her by replying that "El Americano" could 
kill the most came, which was of far greater importance 
than looks. The Laird felt hurt. During his convales- 



WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 109 

cence In the States, after his polo injury, society girls whom 
he had not even met had showered him with flowers. Here, 
when he was too crippled to hunt mountain sheep, local so- 
ciety cast him coolly aside. 

On the 2nd day of March, we reached the Mission of 
San Francisco de Borja, an unusual stone structure, which 
unexpectedly loomed before us as we came around a moun- 
tain spur. With its magnificent carved stone portals, its 
high battlements and extensive adobe outbuildings and cor- 
rals, certainly grim San Borja Is a most unexpected as well 
as an impressive mission. On nearer approach we found 
that the tglesia was built entirely of hewn stones, many of 
them extremely large and all firmly keyed in place. Even 
the lofty vaulted roof was constructed of stone and cement, 
with massive keyed arches supporting it. 

Otero, who seemed to be a self-appointed guardian on the 
mission, directed us to take our choice of any of the adobe 
outhouses. Accordingly, selecting one that seemed clean 
and was heavily carpeted with green grass, we pitched our 
tent within Its walls, for San Borja is a place of much dew 
and the mission out-houses have long been unroofed. The 
Oteros resided In a shack, built against the wall of the 
iglesla and within Its patio. After she had dismounted 
from her burro and entered Into her mansion, the Madam 
seated herself and, to our amusement, began sharply to 
order about her numerous daughters and granddaughters, 
in a most magnificent and authoritative manner. Her own 
small children were hardly to be distinguished from her 
grandchildren, but the latest baby In the aggregation she 
frequently clasped In her arms. Otero also experienced a 
change, becoming an hospitable caretaker, quite far removed 
from the Indian of the camino to whom the loss of teaspoons 
and other incidentals of camp outfit might be ascribed. 

Two or three families of Yaqui Indians and one family 



no CAMP AND CAAIINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

of ancient Cochimis resided in old huts near the mission. 
Otero, however, was the one who dimbed to the belfry on 
Sunday morning and sounded the bells for matins, though 
none but the elderly people seemed to gather for the simple 
prayer services. Hanging against the interior walls of the 
iglesia there were a few fairly good oil paintings of saints, 
and in one of the dark, dungeon-like rooms off the altar two 
skulls grinned. Perhaps, if these yellowed jaws could now 
voice words, vivid scenes would be recalled; for tradition 
and ancient chronicles alike give to the Mission of San Borja 
a most romantic history, dating from those eighteenth cen- 
tury days when the Duquesa Dona Maria de Borja (or 
Borgia), first decided to make an endowment for a mission 
at Adac, the ancient Cochimi name for the San Borja site. 
Its medicinal hot springs had made this spot famous among 
the Indians. The establishment was founded In 1762, by 
the Jesuit explorer. Padre Winceslao Link, a brilliantly 
educated native of old Bohemia. The first buildings were 
made of adobe and covered a large space of ground. Sub- 
sequently these structures were In part superseded by the 
present stone iglesia, or church, on which, according to tra- 
dition, the Dominican Fralles labored up to the end of the 
eighteenth century. In the opening years of the nineteenth 
century, the Superior of the Peninsula Missions sent a cir- 
cular letter to his friars asking for suggestions and reports. 
The response of the Fraile of San Borja still exists. In 
polished periods he describes his loneliness, cut off from all 
intercourse with the world and from all conversation, save 
In a mongrel tongue with treacherous savages, and pathetic- 
ally Inquires whether friars may not be assigned In couples 
at such remote missions as his own. Poor Fraile! Ac- 
cording to their own tradition, the Cochimis ended his life 
by gently dropping a heavy boulder on his head. 

The church Is a substantial building, seven and a half by 



WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL m 

thirty-nine paces within and probably a dozen paces in 
height; the walls are over a yard in thickness. The main 
doorway is guarded by massive hewn timber doors, and just 
beyond the threshold stands a font, cut out of a single block 
of stone; a southwestern doorway is walled high with boul- 
ders. At either side of the altar, doorways open into dark, 
forbidding, circular rooms, intended doubtless for confes- 
sionals. To the left and just within the main entrance, a 
spiral stairway, with thirty-five worn steps of cut stone, leads 
to battlements, overlooking the main arroyo ; similar battle- 
ments guard the northwestern corner of the church. Im- 
mediately before arriving at this balcony, the stairway 
branches and one set of steps enters a belfry where two cop- 
per bells are swung. The bells are inscribed thus: "179 
* senorsanioceph" and "7194 * San VIS- 
GUOS aganod e." Facing slightly east of south it' 
self, the church is joined on the southeast by a flat-roofed 
stone building containing a series of rooms and forming an 
ell within which lies the patio. A high arched gateway, 
such as one sees in old castles on the continent, opens into 
this court. Indeed, the entire mission has the atmosphere 
of a grim, massive fortress. 

On the evening of our arrival at San Borja, the sound of 
string music attracted me toward the ell, in one of the large 
rooms of which I found two Yaqui musicians seated beside 
an ancient square table, on which burned a dim rush candle. 
One of the Yaquis was extremely good looking, the other 
jovial and burly. They played, in excellent time, on guitar 
and violin, while Martin, Otero's obliging eighteen-year-old 
son, waltzed slowly up and down the room. Soon a small 
Yaqui boy, with large, serious eyes and wrapped close, like 
his fellows. In a red serapa, entered and immediately fell to 
waltzing in solitary state. Ultimately, the fiddle was too 
much for me and I, likewise, took to footing it on the old 



112 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

stone flags where once the Padres had knelt in prayer, and 
where, on welcome occasions, they had enjoyed good wine 
with passing officials and dignitaries. Speaking of wine, in 
the mission garden we observed, during our stay at San 
Borja several large stone vats, which, according to the old 
Indians had been used in early times by the Padres for the 
making of wine and the pickling of olives. In the same 
garden, there are trellised grape vines, olive trees, date 
palms, orange trees, pomegranate shrubs and alfalfa, while 
evidences are near by of a former extensive irrigating sys- 
tem. Once upon a time a cloudburst played wild havoc 
with the gardens of San Borja. 

The second day after our arrival at the Mission I visited 
San Ignacito, a rancho situated about five miles to the west. 
The proprietor of this rancho proved to be one of Sefior 
Dick's numerous mining partners, Senor Fidel Villavacensio. 
In consequence of an early education secured in the United 
States, Senor Fidel not only addressed me in excellent Eng- 
lish, but, to my greater surprise placed at my disposal copies 
of Harper's Weekly and the Black Cat. He entertained 
me also with much history and many interesting anecdotes 
concerning the days of the missions, and particularly of the 
closing days immediately preceding the Secularization Act, 
for he had known many an Indian who. In early youth, had 
been a neophyte. Modeling a system of Intense irrigation 
with well, cistern and ditches after the one employed on the 
same land by the Padres a century ago, the Senor has re- 
cently cleared the ground at San Ignacito and is putting to 
practical use his knowledge of the history and tradition in 
so far, at least, as pertains to the making of a delightful 
garden spot In the barren wilderness. 

Among my host's books I was delighted to find a Spanish 
edition of the California writings of Padre Javier Clavi- 
jero, the eighteenth century Jesuit chronicler of whom I've 



WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 1 13 

already made mention. An Italian version of this invalua- 
ble work I had seen years before in San Francisco. 

As modern naturalists seem to consider the mountain 
sheep one of their nineteenth century discoveries, I will 
quote an illuminating passage from chapter sixteen of Clavi- 
jero: "El taje de la California es el ibex de Plinio y el hou- 
qiietin de Btifon. 'Sunt ibices pernicitatis quamquam 
onerato capite vastis cornibus.' " Plin. Hist. Nat. Lib. 
VIII, c. 53). Which, roughly translated, means, "The 
taje of California is similar to the ibex of Pliny and the bou- 
quetin of Buffon. The ibex is extremely active, though his 
head is weighed down by great horns." This passage is 
followed by a statement that what has been written con- 
cerning the ibex and bouquetin has been observed to be true 
of the California taje. 

In this connection I will here add a quotation from Alex- 
ander Humboldt, written prior to 1803. "The Sierra de 
la Giganta," wrote the great traveler in his notes on Cali- 
fornia, "Is Inhabited by an animal resembling the mouflon 
{ovis ammon) of Sardinia . . . The Spaniards call them 
wild sheep {carneres cimarones) . They leap, like the ibex, 
with their heads downward; and their horns are curved on 
themselves in a spiral form. This animal differs essen- 
tially from the wild goat .... these goats, which belong 
perhaps to the antelope race, go in the country by the name 
of berrendas." 

And as Padre Jakob Baegert also wrote on California 
mountain sheep in the eighteenth century, before Shaw, Cu- 
vier, Desmarest, Audubon and Doyle, the first accredited 
writers on the subject were born, a quotation from his 
"Nachrlchten" is here proper: "Where the chain of moun- 
tains that runs lengthwise through the whole peninsula 
reaches a considerable height, there are found animals re- 
sembling our rams In all respects, except their horns, which 



114 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

are thicker, longer and much more curved." The old 
Padre was evidently the author of that ridiculous jumping 
yarn for he concluded his account thus, "When pursued, 
these animals will drop themselves from the highest preci- 
pices upon their horns without receiving any injury." But 
what may not be expected In the sheep line when it Is con- 
sidered that that champion story-teller, Marco Polo, with 
his ovis poll, or sheep of Central Asia, began the discovering 
of mountain sheep way back in the thirteenth century! 

Two modern hunters have written happily and with par- 
ticularly good sense concerning the big-horn. In 1881, the 
Earl of Dunraven, an Irish big game hunter, thus referred 
to the Rocky Mountain sheep : "Ovis montana, locally and 
variously called the mountain sheep, big-horn or taye, is 
very closely allied to, If he is not Identical with, Ovis Argali, 
the wild sheep of Asia, and he is akin to the European 
mouflon. . , . To find the big-horn the hunter scales giddy 
precipices and climbs to soaring peaks and confronts nature 
face to face In her grandest, her most terrific moods." And 
in his "Hunting Trips of a Ranchman," Colonel Roosevelt 
says, "Hunting the big-horn is at all times the hardest and 
most dlflScult kind of sport. ... Its chase constitutes the 
noblest form of sport with the rifle. . . . No other form 
of hunting does as much to bring out the good qualities, both 
moral and physical, of the sportsman who follow it." 

A few years ago the mountain sheep of the Grapevine 
Mountains between Nevada and California was named 
after that industrious naturalist, Mr. E. W- Nelson. If 
the Lower California sheep is to receive any distinctive 
name, I suggest that the honor fall to Francisco Clavijero. 

But I have wandered far from San Ignacito. The pur- 
pose of my visit there had been to bargain for a burro, one 
of mine having become too foot-sore for further travel. 
Unfortunately for me, the Senor had no burros to sell ; hoW' 



WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 115 

ever, though we might not traffic in live stock, he kindly gave 
me some dried beef, gladly accepting in return a small gift 
of coffee, beans, flour and tobacco from us, the end of his 
own supplies being in sight. The worthy Mexican particu- 
larly appreciated the tobacco, while his wife stated that the 
coffee would bring quiet to her head, which had been rebel- 
lious for six days. She informed me that without coffee, 
neither she nor her women could do efficient work, so de- 
pendent had they become upon the beverage. 

Though my visit failed of its purpose I enjoyed it great- 
ly, for my kindly host was an Interesting and observant 
man; moreover, he was resourceful. Toothache, scourge 
of the wilderness, he cured in a novel way: With a thread 
and sheet of writing paper he made a cornucopia, the open 
end of which he placed flat upon a dish; he then set fire to 
the upper end of the cornucopia whereupon the burning 
paper generated a drop of yellow liquid. This liquid — It 
is extremely bitter — he applied, with a toothpick and cot- 
ton, to the cavity and the toothache perished amid the howls 
of the possessor of the tooth. 

Teguas, or native shoes, If made by Seiior Fidel, are 
highly prized in the Waist of the Peninsula. To their 
value I can testify, for he kindly prepared a pair for me 
"while I waited." His method was simplicity Itself: Using 
a draw knife, he first smoothed off a piece of heavy tanned 
beef hide and from this he cut out two pieces of leather, 
measured to my feet; then he cut out two more pieces of 
similar design and, by the aid of small cobblers' tacks, soon 
had double thickness soles prepared. The uppers he made 
of a single thickness and with lighter weight leather. Each 
upper consisted of two parts; the front piece, resembling, In 
appearance, a plasterer's trowel, covered the toe and Instep 
and served, also, the purpose of a tongue; the other piece 
lapped over the tongue with Its ends and extended around 



Ii6 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

the heel of the foot: These uppers were attached to the 
soles with extremely small cobblers' tacks driven, from the 
outer side, through the lower edge of the uppers. Holes 
having been made through the upper portions of the ex- 
tremities of each of the overlapping uppers, shoe strings, 
in the shape of buckskin thongs, were passed through these 
holes to bind the tegiias to the feet. Heels he omitted. 
For comfort and noiseless travel tegiias are unequalled. I 
used mine in hunting until they were worn out and then 
purchased another pair at Loreto. Although the Senor 
could not inform me concerning the invention of these na- 
tive shoes, inasmuch as my Scotch friend wore similar foot- 
gear made by Kaffirs for use on the African veldt, I hazard 
a guess that the widely-traveled Jesuits originated the Cali- 
fornia tegua. 

While he was working over the leather Sefior Villava- 
censio asked me whether I was collecting botanical or zoo- 
logical specimens. Upon my negative reply he related to 
me this yarn : A few years ago, when Senor Dick was yet in 
charge of the San Juan Mine above Los Flores, the quar- 
terly supply boat brought to Los Angeles Playa a scientist 
from the United States. Senor Dick received the stranger 
hospitably and supplied him with a native mozo under 
whose guidance the scientist easily secured many new and 
unclassified specimens. As the time for his departure drew 
near, the scientist became uneasy. At last he stated his 
case to Senor Dick. He was possessed of a camera and 
he desired a picture taken which would show the dangers 
through which he had passed. "Good," said Senor Dick, 
"we'll arrange that." Accordingly, Seiior Dick, Sefior 
Fidel, the American and the mozo repaired to a convenient 
and not too dangerous precipice. Near the brink they ar- 
ranged a mining crane and a heavy rope, the farther end 
of which was tied about the waist of the American. With 



WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 1 17 

the Seiiors and the mozo managing the crane, the ambitious 
scientist, a handful of his new specimens in his hands, was 
swung over. After paying out forty feet of rope, Seiior 
Dick withdrew to a good vantage point and snapped the 
camera. "After the scientist's return to the States," con- 
cluded Sefior Fidel, "the picture of the feat was developed 
and published in the papers with thrilling headlines which 
secured for him an honorable position. He had never writ- 
ten us his thanks, though." 

On my return from San Ignacito, I found that my com- 
panion had been successful in engaging two burros and their 
master, one of the musical Yaquis, to journey any reasona- 
ble distance with us. Accordingly, as the Laird was still 
under the weather, we decided to swing down to the Gulf 
and visit Los Flores, where there was said to be a mining 
proprietor who had at one time practiced medicine. This 
matter agreed upon, I congratulated my friend upon his 
burro bargaining abilities and accepted his invitation to 
visit the further corner of the mission gardens and Inspect 
some hot springs In which he planned to bathe his Injured 
limbs. 

The springs proved to be decidedly warm, well shaded 
by Cottonwood trees and partially lined with flat stones. To 
the Laird's discomfiture, however, two of the Madam's 
daughters and one of her baby granddaughters were rest- 
ing calmly by the larger spring, evidently preparing for the 
baby's bath. Even his ostentatious throwing aside of his 
coat and unlacing of his boots failed to Induce them to 
depart. 

He paused with blushes on his cheeks and soft swear 
words on his lips, and courteously made signs to the 
Indian maidens to take their departure. The latter giggled 
and made response to the effect that they were not In the 
way and that their people had used the aguas calientes since 



*li8 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

the beginning of the world. This was too much for my 
risibility, but though I rallied him unmercifully my com- 
panion, having had experience in India with natives, posi- 
tively declined to take the needed bath while the Indians 
were in the neighborhood, saying that the question of caste 
must be respected. Accordingly, I herded the pair away to 
a lesser spring and then devoted myself to the diversion of 
a party of half a dozen small Indians who were en route for 
their hot bath. These little people soon became accustomed 
to me and played with all the glee of Anglo-Saxon children^ 
laughing gaily, then creeping quietly towards me with small 
hands outstretched, only to turn and rush away In feigned 
alarm. Whenever I made pretense of seizing them their 
delight became ecstatic. Of my camera, however, they had 
so real a fear that I had not the heart to turn it upon them. 
Though they were all pretty, bright-eyed toddlers, their 
one-piece garments were ragged and wofuUy unwashed. 

Refreshed by his bath, the Laird finally rejoined me. 
Returning to the mission, we climbed the battlements whence 
we could view the surrounding rugged country at our ease. 
Here he explained to me the proper military manner of de- 
fending the mission against Indians, while I threw stones 
at a large Iguana which, hearing our voices, had thrust his 
beetling head Inquisitively from an aperture among the 
stones of the arched roof. A century ago the Cochimis be- 
sieged San Borja and endeavored to scale Its walls. Now 
Otero, a Cochlmi, Is Its sole guardian. His Intense faithful- 
ness is measured by the fact that, when an earnest Padre 
attempted to remove one of the mission bells to an iglesia 
where services were more frequent, Otero trailed down the 
good man, laid a charge against him before a juez (justice) 
and secured the return of the bell. 

After descending from our station, the Laird and I visited 
the Madam and presented her with a worn pair of riding- 



WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 1 19 

bags for the use of her growing male progeny; in token of 
her appreciation she gave us a large dish of wild honey. 
Meantime, Otero appeared on the scene bearing two fiber 
soladeros, or saddle sweat blankets, which I had agreed to 
buy and which he had made from the palma del monte, a 
species of palm growing extensively in the region of San 
Borja. These fiber soladeros keep an animal's back cool 
and save it from sores. The knack of their preparation is 
doubtless a survival of the art of weaving which the Jesuits 
introduced among the Peninsula Mission Indians in the 
eighteenth century. Good mattresses are made in the same 
way, but the mattress market is rather slack about San 
Borja. 

While Otero was in the midst of a minute description of 
the process of making fiber soladeros, the Laird veered 
away toward camp where I joined him half an hour later. 
As I appeared choking with laughter he gravely inquired 
concerning the cause of my mirth. 

"Great things, those soladeros '' I began, "and, fortu- 
nately, the Kitten understands their preparation." 

"I grant the usefulness," he replied, seriously, "but who's 
the 'Kitten,' and why 'fortunately'?" 

"The 'Kitten' Is the muchacha for whom our friends de- 
sire a life's partner. As I have just explained that the hot 
baths have restored you to shooting condition, the Seiior 
has given his approval and the Madam is delighted over 
the near prospect of a blonde son-in-law." 

"Get out! You're stringing me." 

"Stay here twenty-four hours and see," I replied, chal- 
lengingly. 

"Lord, man, I've never seen the woman — don't desire to, 
either." 

"That doesn't matter. She's heard about you. When 
I told her that you had a big rancho on a distant island with 



120 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

lard, coffee, sugar, and candies by the barrel, she clapped 
her hands In wild delight. She's almost thirteen which, as 
I gather, is a proper nuptial age among the Cochlmls. 
Laird, the greatest thing you ever did was to be born blonde 
— and the second greatest was when you gave Madam some 
of your tobacco." 

"If you're trying to string me, keep on," he growled. 
Hotly. I shrugged my shoulders and made ready to prepare 
supper. My silence disturbed him. "Suppose we break 
camp," he observed, presently. "I've always made It a 
point to keep my distance with savages." 

"Good," I cried, applaudingly, while the Laird looked 
fiercely toward the mission as though expecting a savage 
wedding party to Issue from the ancient arched doorway. 
Presently I continued: "All I have to add Is that if you 
should decide to take this Cochlmi princess, Pocahontas like, 
to be your Lady, do not let It disturb our friendship. I 
won't be jealous. Honest, I wont. I've seen her!" 

That night was intensely cold, so cold that I slept fitfully 
and was awakened by the tinkling of Coronado's bell. 
Looking over the wall of our adobe, I saw the last of our 
animals vaulting the bars which kept them within a walled 
field of alfalfa — which they were leaving with the plain in- 
tent of dieting on shrubs and cacti. A comical sight they 
made, stalking seriously along, single file, in the bright 
moonlight. 

Our departure the following morning was too exciting to 
be interesting. To begin with, rest and green feed had 
made broncos of our burros so that even our powerful 
Yaqui servitor, assisted by my active little mozo, was unable 
to persuade the festive Cabrillo, my big white burro, to be 
saddled until both forefeet were tied and a blind placed over 
his eyes. Meantime one of my other burros and a Yaqui 
burro inopportunely took to the hills. On top of this the 



WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 1 21 

Indian muchachas kept pestering me for "ropa." We had 
already made the family many presents and our supply of 
rope was short. In the confusion, I lost my temper and 
told the girls most sharply that I had not an inch of rope to 
spare. Undiscouraged, however, they hung about the adobe 
clamoring for "ropa, un peso ropa," to which they received 
no response, except a short reply from me to the effect that 
all our rope was required for our packs and that not five 
pesos would secure them a piece of it. Only too glad to 
escape from the pertinacious muchachas and their cries of 
"ropa, Senor, ropa," I slipped Into my saddle and rode over 
to the mission gateway where I was bidding the Madam a 
touching farewell, when I heard an exclamation from one of 
the younger members of her family. Looking backward, I 
saw the form of my friend stretched on the ground. I 
learned later that just as he was mounting his burro, one of 
the Yaqul's broncos, the animal had leaped forward and 
fallen with him, pinning his already Injured knee beneath 
Its shoulders and against a sharp fragment of broken stone. 
That the leg was not fractured Is a marvel. After assist- 
ing the Laird to his feet, I found him grittlly persistent In 
remounting his vicious beast. He was gravely anxious to 
quit San Borja. 



CHAPTER X 

THE LOST GULFO CAMINO AND THE CANNIBAL ISLE OF 

TIBURON 

FROM San Borja, the Laird and I journeyed north- 
westerly and then northeasterly, finding faint signs 
of an ancient and very broad highway, marked by 
lines of stones on either side, lines which must have been 
surveyed with every care. No well defined trail remained, 
however. We were now in the Waist, proper, of the Pe- 
ninsula, the distance from Gulf to Ocean being but thirty- 
seven miles. Indeed, as we crossed the divide of the main 
Cordillera, I was able to see the Pacific Ocean to the west; 
the Gulf of California being only a few miles to the east I 
felt willing to concur in the belief that, in an earlier age, 
the ocean swept across this section of the Peninsula, form- 
ing an island of the southern portion. 

Passing through the divide we found a considerable pond 
lying in a sheltered valley, joyous with the gay chorus of 
quail and song birds and fragrant with the perfume of 
myriad wild flowers. At this stage of our journey, while 
engaged in my frequent occupation of delving In my Spanish 
dictionary, my eyes fell upon the word "ropaf the English 
equivalent following gave me a feeling of deepest mortifi- 
cation and chagrin. I had assumed that ropa meant 
"rope": It means "clothes, clothing, laundry!" On my ar- 
rival at San Borja I had arranged with the Madame for the 
laundering of a bundle of our clothes. Her girls had done 
the work and In my absence at San Ignacito, left the bundle 

123 



124 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

in our tent where it had lain unobserved and had finally been 
thrust with my blankets into a dunnage bag. Thus the 
Laird and I, representatives of two highly civilized nations, 
had coolly ridden away without paying the poor, anxious 
muchachas their well-earned peso laundry bill. As it was 
too late for us to return and correct our mistake, I pity the 
next foreigner who endeavors to have washing done by the 
Indian girls of San Borja! 

The second day out, my companion's burro renewed his 
bronco tricks, developing a strange faculty for falling un- 
expectedly down. The Laird's vocabulary grew extraordi- 
narily, but it was unable to keep pace with that burro's new 
wrinkles of deviltry. Our people, also, were provoking. 
In one instance we had delayed, that I might extract several 
thorns which had jammed their way through my shoes. 
They kept blithely on ; in fact, they were full two miles away 
when we eventually caught sight of them. Even to frequent 
discharges of our rifles they gave no heed until we had so 
far advanced that the Laird was able to drop a rifle ball 
from his long-barreled .30-. 40 Winchester, in their imme- 
diate neighborhood. When one is in a country minus a 
trail and pays a man to act as guide, it is not gratifying to 
have that man hasten out of sight and leave one to his own 
tracking resources. Such experiences as this finally led me 
to trust to my own mountain sense and to enjoin my mozos 
to confine their attentions to the animals, cooking and pack- 
ing and leave to me the course of travel. 

On the afternoon of the second day, I witnessed with keen 
relish and delight a gusty passage between my irate com- 
panion and our stupid, burly Yaqui "guide." The latter had 
been particularly doltish and the former, having exhausted 
all his sign language and native swear words without effect, 
stood before the wooden faced Indian, his little soft hat 
awry on the back of his curly blond head, his usually mild 



THE LOST GULFO CAMINO 125 

face flushed with anger, his Hps white, his elbows close to 
his body, his clenched hands before him, beating the air. 
The words that I caught were these: "Oh, curse you! Oh, 
you cursed YaquI ! I have damned you in four tongues and 
your face is still impassive. Oh, if I only knew your lan- 
guage so that I could swear with a feeling that what I said 
was being appreciated ! Oh, oh ! Can't you even see that 
I am cursing you?" So earnest a denunciation, delivered in 
entire ignorance of my proximity, could not be spoiled, so I 
fell back before exploding with laughter. 

That evening, with the glint of a smile in his eyes, my 
Scotchman suddenly remarked, "Do you know what the 
Yaq.'s name is?" 

"Julio, I believe," I replied. 

"A portion of it. His full name is Julius Caesar. Your 
boy's name is Jesus, and it is beyond reason for any two 
men to expect smooth traveling when trying to follow, at 
the same time, both Great Caesar and Je — " 

"Here, let up," I interrupted, laughingly, "must I tell you 
that, to save my conscience from a feeling of sacrilege, for 
days — every time I've written It In my journal, in fact — 
I've followed that boy's name, religiously, with brackets, en- 
closing the decent Spanish pronunciation, and now you, you 
dissenting, Covenanting, Scotch Presbyterian, impious, ir- 
reverent — " 

"Oh, man, man, I'm more than weary; let's sleep," and 
sleep we accordingly did. 

The following day we descended along the course of a 
rattlesnake-infested arroyo that brought us out upon the 
Gulf of California. Half a league from shore there lay a 
rocky Island, stretching as far as the eye could see to the 
north and making a beautiful, land-locked harbor with a 
beach unsurpassed at any of the American watering places. 
This was the Bay of Los Angeles of the Gulf, a broad sweep 



126 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

of twenty-five miles, for many years the retreat of the cheer- 
ful buccaneers, in more recent times the haven of contrahan- 
distas and beachcombers. Here our eyes were gladdened 
by the sight of a group of palms and a small clump of sugar- 
cane, clustered on the rising ground just above several 
shacks, old stone corrals and the shattered ribs of ships' 
boats. This oasis proved to be the Aguaje San Juan 
(Spring of St. John), of which I had read in chronicles 
written a century and a half ago. Shadowing the palms, a 
white granite mountain lifted its craggy shoulders a sheer 
mile towards the clear sky, while from the Aguaje a spark- 
ling stream bubbled forth and rushed into pools. For the 
convenience of stray crafts, a rusty iron pipe carried a steady 
flow from one of the pools to the shore, a furlong distant. 
In 1746 the Jesuit explorer, Padre Hernando Consag, 
visited this coast and named the harbor the Bay of the 
Angels, the Island, Guardian Angel {Angel de la Guardia), 
and the strait between shore and island, Whale Channel 
(Canal de Ballenas) . This channel has always been noted 
for Its whales, called California Grays. Upon the passing 
of the buccaneers, the New Bedford whalers hurried hither 
and waged war upon the "Grays." The New Englanders 
got the worst of It, however, and now these warrior whales 
play and splash about and bring forth their young, undis- 
turbed by harpoon or rifle. 

Making camp In a corral, we found, In a cave near by, a 
choice assortment of skulls and other "human various." 
In early times the Indians from San Borja frequented the 
Aguaje San Juan, catching turtles, fish and oysters In the 
Bay, while the YaquI and Serl Indians crossed the Gulf from 
the Sonora coast for like purpose, not Infrequently meeting 
with sanguinary results. We, however, found but one 
visitor, a pock-marked ancient, seemingly a beachcomber, 
though he may have been a retired pirate. 



THE LOST GULFO CAMINO 1 27 

The night we passed near the Aguaje was perfect, a moon, 
nearly full, bringing out the massive, ghostly white sierras, 
the glistening sand on the wide beach and the glassy water 
of the crescent bay. Awakening at midnight, I arose and, 
leaning against the ancient wall of our silent camp, revelled 
in the brilliant beauty of my surroundings, thinking of the 
sixteenth century Spanish voyagers that first had ventured 
into this Adriatic of the West, this Sea of Cortez, and of 
the freebooters, contrabandistas and naval explorers of later 
days, until their shadows seemed to rise up against the clear 
outline of silent Angel de la Guardia. I slept again, most 
peacefully now, in the balmy air, but with the first soft light 
of early morning I slipped down to the sandy beach and, 
finding among the timbers of a broken ship's boat, two great 
turtle shells, I dragged them nearer the rippling water. 
Upon one I piled my clothes, resting the while in placid 
comfort upon the other. After a keenly invigorating 
plunge — though the water was a trifle cold and sharks had 
to be considered — I raced along the warm sands, converted 
to primitive life and quite ready to lapse into a primeval 
existence. 

On leaving the Aguaje, we followed the line of the beach, 
passing the deserted reduction works of the Santa Marta 
Mine, and winding our way along a narrow path in the 
cliff high above the breaking waves. Here one of the 
burros became alarmed by a rolling stone and, turning half 
about in the trail, frightened the others, placing my whole 
outfit in imminent danger of falling over the cliff and into 
the surf far beneath. The stolid Julius, who was nearest 
to the tangle, was too lazy to retrace his steps and extricate 
the animals, nor did he come to time until subjected to the 
persuasiveness inherent in the staring muzzle of a carbine. 
Farther along we descended to the shore once more, and 
shortly passed a forlorn wayside grave with its grim pile of 



128 CAMP AND CAML\0 IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

stones and pathetic little driftwood cross. Another mile 
brought us to a warehouse, a boat landing and a deserted 
frame house. In the latter a rusted telephone box catching 
my eye, I at once called for "Central." To my extreme 
surprise, a woman's soft voice answered, promptly, in Eng- 
lish, and much abashed, I was soon announcing my name 
and my intention of paying my respects to the residents of 
Los Flores (The Flowers), the other end of the line. 

Accordingly, we now turned from the coast. After jour- 
neying two leagues along a sandy road, leading In a south- 
erly direction, we came upon a charming region of densely 
growing wild flowers where the presence of shadowy build- 
ings, rampant burros and barking dogs advised us of a set- 
tlement. This according to Julius, was Los Flores. Night 
having fallen we went into camp without investigation. The 
following morning we made the acquaintance of the pro- 
prietor of the place, an American by the name of Dr. 
Plank. Not only was he a fellow countryman but also a 
Good Samaritan, for he made room for us at his hospitable 
table, introduced his wife and son and placed his home and 
his books at our disposal. Here we stayed for three days, 
during which we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. A large 
mining plant is situated at Los Flores in connection with 
which there is a seven-mile railroad with a baby engine. 
When I boarded this engine, young Plank soberly informed 
me that one of my burros was weeping with surprise and 
jealousy at the sight. 

Throughout the altogether pleasant hours spent at Los 
Flores, T sought eagerly for additional news In regard to 
the Seri Indians concerning whom I had read already in old 
chronicles and of whom Julio had frequently spoken with 
latent bitterness. These people inhabit T'lbiirou, or Shark 
Island, a barren, rocky stretch of land some ten leagues In 
length by four or five In breadth, lying oft" the Sonora coast, 



THE LOST GULFO CAMINO 129 

opposite the Aguaje San Juan. Though its greatest heights 
attain an elevation of 5,000 feet, there are only three con- 
siderable water-holes on the entire island. From the sum- 
mer of 1540 when Hernando de Alarcon, one of Cortez's 
admirals, finding the surrounding sea swarming with vora- 
cious sharks, gave the land its name, Tiburon Island has 
been a place of ill repute amongst men. A race of splendid 
physique and marvelous fleetness, its inhabitants, known as 
the Seri, were reported by Don Rodrigo Maldonado, an 
officer of Coronado, as being "so large and tall that the best 
man in the (Spanish) army reached only to their chests." 
Indeed, there is excellent reason for believing that out of 
the Spanish tales of the Seri were created, through an au- 
thor's imaginative brain, the Brobdingnagians of Dean 
Swift. At the same time it is no wild phantasy to surmise 
that Tiburon is really the Island which Cortez had in view 
when he sent his admirals in search of California, "the land 
of Amazons"; certainly the Seri women exercise an unusual 
control of affairs on Tiburon, and all kinship is reckoned In 
the female line. 

Prior to the middle of the seventeenth century the inhabi- 
tants of the island were reputed to be cannibals, a stigma 
which still attaches to them; by the opening of the eigh- 
teenth century their animosity toward strangers had become 
proverbial. Neighboring Indian tribes, Spaniards, Mexi- 
cans, Americans, Indeed, all visiting aliens have found the 
Seri Inexplicably treacherous and hostile. Non-agricultural 
barbarians, scantily garbed In pelican skins, partial to meat 
uncooked and to the unspeakably disgusting "second crop" 
of the cacti, these Isolated aborigines are possessed of a 
pride of blood so fierce and Intense that to intermingle their 
own with that of an alien is an indefensible crime. 

The Seri are essentially warriors. During the three cen- 
turies last past over fifty recorded attempts have been made 



130 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

to subjugate them. Cunning, possessed of unequalled en- 
durance and a demoniac lust for blood, they have repulsed 
or eluded all comers. If as many as five hundred members 
of the tribe yet survive, then a moderate estimate of their 
cost merely to Mexican war parties, would be two hundred 
dollars per head. While they carry long bows, they seem 
more partial to hupfs, or handy boulders, and to their teeth 
and hands. That they use poisoned arrows is a charge 
that has been made against their warriors these two cen- 
turies past. It is said that they obtain the deadly venom 
by pressing their arrow points against partially hollowed 
putrified livers within which a repulsive mass of centipedes, 
tarantulas and rattlesnakes have been stored, warring until 
death. 

Lithe, deep-chested, of rather comely figures and well pro- 
portioned bodies, the strength of the Seri is as extraordinary 
as their lust for slaughter. Separated from the Sonora 
mainland by the treacherous waters of a narrow strait, 
well termed Boca Infierno (Mouth of Hell) and Infiernillo 
(Little Hell) they dextrously propel their frail cane balsas 
across the swirling waves, carrying with them plunder from 
the inland natives. Indeed, at low tide it is said they breast 
these waters without artificial support, carrying on their 
stalwart shoulders great reeking quarters of stolen beef. 
Working in concert, moreover, four Seri will run down a 
deer or mountain sheep, beating out its brains with hupfs. 
Many of the men exceed six feet in height. 

Meager in its vocabulary, the language of these people 
has been variously ascribed to Arabian, Welsh and Pata- 
gonian original. In their worship, the turtle and the peli- 
can are chief tutelarles. 

So many of the visitors to Tiburon Island, however, have 
disappeared, leaving no sign, that most knowledge of its 
people and their customs is traditional and veiled in uncer- 



THE LOST GULFO CAMINO 131 

tainty. Of recent travelers who have never returned from 
the Seri, I will mention two San Francisco correspondents, 
murdered there in 1894, a party of prospectors who effected 
a landing in 1896, two traders who were made away with 
in 1898 and, finally, the Grindell party of last year. Well, 
indeed, did a scientist of the Smithsonian Institute charac- 
terize the natives of Tiburon as "the most primitive, the 
most bloodthirsty and treacherous of the Indians of North 
America." So much for the 'cross-the-Gulf neighbors of 
Los Flores. The knowledge that leagues of water inter- 
vened was rather comforting. 

On the third day of our visit at Los Flores, our kindly 
American host professionally advised my Scotch friend 
against traveling farther overland in his debilitated condi- 
tion and invited him to remain in his home, until such time 
in the near future as a steamer from Guaymas might appear. 
He even seriously remonstrated with me concerning my 
venturing southward by the lost Gulfo C amino, stating that 
it was reputed to lead through a dangerous and untraveled 
country. I parted regretfully with the Laird. Taking 
the miner's advice in so far as it concerned the carrying of 
Mexican currency in place of coin, and providing myself 
with a new Indian guide, Lario, by name, and two new 
rented burros, I left Los Flores late the afternoon of the 
nth of March and rode southward into the wilds. 

A rainstorm soon burst upon us and continued unceasingly, 
but we covered ten miles before darkness and the pelting 
storm compelled us to halt. Then, having been forewarned 
by Dr. Plank, I had my mozos tie the burros for the 
night so that they might not stray away into regions abound- 
ing in the poison weed, la yerha, and the poisonous little 
creature el animal, both of which are deadly to grazing 
beasts. Seemingly satisfied, the tethered burros munched 
away on boughs of palo verde cut for them by the mozos. 



132 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

The following morning we continued on in a flood of rain, 
from which my companions sought to protect themselves by 
covering their shoulders with mountain sheep hides, which 
I permitted them to take from the packs, while I revelled in 
my slicker. In places we saw parallel lines of stones mark- 
ing the ancient and now unknown Giilfo Camino of the 
Padres; the greater portion of the time, however, we had 
not even a sign of trail to follow. Finally, late in the after- 
noon, we reached a sinister appearing rancho, beyond which 
Lario suddenly declined to move, in person or by burro. 
In extenuation he stated that he was unacquainted with the 
country and feared its dangers, that I might better have 
taken the open Sierra Camino over Paraiso way. 

As I was unwilling to turn back or aside, I at once paid 
off the fellow and then, after much bargaining, engaged 
two burros and their owner, the least murderous looking of 
the unprepossessing mestizos gathered at the rancho, to 
journey with me as far as the Mission of Santa Gertrudis. 
Rapidly transferring such of my belongings as were on 
Lario's burros to the newly engaged ones, I pressed on and 
managed to place a league between the rancho and myself 
before darkness and the rain compelled us to camp on the 
edge of the arroyo down which we were riding. In the 
middle of the night I looked from my tent and observed a 
curious phenomenon. Rain drops were falling though the 
sky was cloudless and the stars shining brightly! 

After a dripping night, we hastened on Into a region of 
lofty and rugged volcanic sierras, the favored retreat of 
several varieties of big game. Of watering places, how- 
ever, we found but one, the "buried," or sand-covered 
Tinaja de Santa Marita. At this tinaja we replenished our 
canteens and then turned southwesterly into the sierras. 
As we were ascending a brushy slope, I experienced a sharp 
pain and a short period of uncertainty in consequence of a 



^'■l.H 




An unprepossessing Mestizo 



THE LOST GULFO CAMINO 133 

bite, just below my left knee made by a small, greenish- 
brown beetle. I captured the creature and at once en- 
deavored to ascertain from the mestizo what degree of 
evil might result from the bite, for the pain was intense. 
Finally, I was advised that the beetle's bite, though as mala 
(evil) as the sting of an alacran (scorpion) was not as mala 
as a beweiner.* With this differentiation I was obliged to 
to be content and proceed. 

Unexpectedly, a dip in the sierras gave us a view of the 
Gulf spread out below us with two successive islands in the 
middle distance and the outline of a third against the hori- 
zon. Surmising that these were the Sal si Puedes (Get 
Out if [thou] Canst) , I pointed them out to the mestizo and 
he at once informed me that the two nearer islands were 
San Sebastian and San Lorenzo while the distant one was 
Tiburon. Then, extending his arm dramatically seaward, 
he cried out in the vernacular, "There, Senor, the home of 
the Seri ! Senor, they are cannibals, fiendish cannibals." I 
gazed at the distant shore in horror and fascination, for 
much had I heard of ill-famed Tiburon. Then I shivered, 
thinking suddenly of the various explorers, even down to 
Grindell, not yet a twelve-month lost, who had disappeared 
forever on those shores glistening in the rays of the setting 
sun. 

Swiftly, the clouds darkened the sky and hurled down 
upon us a deluge of rain. Then night fell and we made 
camp. 

It was not a pleasant evening. Santa Gertrudis was full 
two days distant, we were in the uttermost corner of the 
American continent and I had grave doubts concerning my 
newly acquired and dangerous appearing mestizo. How- 
ever, under the soothing influence of the patter of the drops 

* General local term for rattlesnakes of all varieties. 



134 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

on the canvas, I finally fell asleep under my small tent, sup- 
plies about me, carbine at hand, revolver tied to my wrist — 
and my mozos at my knees, partially sheltered by the tent 
flaps. 



CHAPTER XI 

INTO THE ANTELOPE COUNTRY 

SOME forty-eight hours later we emerged In safety 
from the lost Gulfo Camino, regaining the sierra 
trail near the Mission of Santa Gertrudls. Here, 
as a fitting, though altogether unpleasant, climax to the 
varied experiences which had marked our travels since leav- 
ing San Borja, I found myself face to face with serious 
trouble. Throughout the day the Insolent eyes of the 
greedy mestizo had been fixed covetously on my outfit. 
Now, the very evening of our arrival at Santa Gertrudls, he 
discovered In the currency which I tendered him a pretext 
for the quarrel which he seemed only too anxious to bring 
about. His pay must be in silver, he cried. To this I 
made brief response, saying that I carried only currency 
and the smaller coins. For a moment he stared at me with 
lowering brows; then turned aside, muttering a surly re- 
joinder : silver he would have — and by morning. 

There's unlimited picturesqueness about the old Spanish 
missions. Take Santa Gertrudls, for instance. Founded 
down near the twenty-eighth parallel, early In 175 1, by 
Padre Consag, the noted Jesuit explorer. It has a cut stone 
iglesia, and a renaissance-style separate campanile. Some- 
times, however, one Is not Interested In the picturesque. As 
I hunched my shoulders up against the massive stones of the 
southern wall of the iglesia of Santa Gertrudls, slipped my 
wrist through the buckskin cord about the butt-ring of my 
Colts .45, fixed a weather eye on the swathed form stretched 

135 



13^ CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

out not three paces distant and realized that a long night 
was before me, I paid no heed to picturesque surroundings, 
my mind being occupied exclusively with the thought that 
an angry mestizo with a treacherous six-inch blade rested 
within the serapa. Indeed, crouching against the mission 
walls for the interminable hours of darkness proved a de- 
gree too romantic for any comfort. 

Early the next morning an ancient crone, staff in hand, 
tottered past, entering the mission. While she told her 
beads within, I took the mestizo for a little walk beyond 
the native graveyard. As we strolled along I held forth — 
to a sullen auditor, I'll confess — on the equality of national 
bills and coin, plainly a most unappreciated dissertation. 
Presently, however, the fellow brightened visibly, his eyes 
fixed on just what I was in search of — a big, long-eared 
jackrabbit, sitting bolt upright near at hand. Some min- 
utes later we returned to the mission — again past the ceme- 
tery. One chamber of my revolver was now empty and a 
thoughtful mestizo, carrying the remains of a badly man- 
gled rabbit, had concluded that national bills were legal 
tender. Shortly, possessed of the right amount of these 
bills, he rode peaceably away, taking the back trail which 
led to his rancho. 

This matter thus settled and breakfast disposed of, I dis- 
patched my small mozo in search of a Mexican with a renta- 
ble burro and a willingness to tackle the alleged antelope 
country down on the eastern border of the Llanos de Ojo 
Liehre. I, for my part, undertook the luncheon proposi- 
tion. The appetizing odors evidently reached the boy, for 
he quickly returned, reporting several mestizos and Indians 
near at hand, well provided with burros and anxious for 
meat and pesos, but mightily averse to entering upon a trip 
where the prospect for water was bad. Knowing what I 
do now, I would have been equally reluctant myself. As 




o 



en 






INTO THE ANTELOPE COUNTRY 137 

It was, I became provoked, according to my wont when the 
natives seemed timorous. In another moment, however, 
the jangle of merry bells diverted my attention toward the 
camino from the west. 

I looked up in time to see a long cavalcade approaching 
with much show of high peaked sombreros and silver 
mounted saddles, of daggers and clanking spurs; altogether 
an unwonted and unusually fine outfit. The leader was a 
tall, slender Mexican, his black hair splashed with white. 
In single file, following close In his wake, came a pretty little 
girl, a thickly veiled young woman, dressed In somber black, 
two young fellows — one a handsome chap with an unex- 
pected lettered red sweater — next numerous pack animals 
loaded with hampers — one even bore a large trunk — and 
finally three or four mozos. The entire party were mounted 
on long-legged mules, zebra-marked, sure-footed beasts. 
The cavalcade halted beside a stream some rods from the 
mission, whereupon the mozos began to unpack, under the 
supervision of the leader, while the veiled Senora, accom- 
panied by the child and the two young men, approached the 
iglesia. Attracted by my mountain sheep hides, the little 
party swerved over my way and he of the red sweater, after 
Introducing himself as "Frank Reavis, of San Francisco and 
Mexico," and acquiring my name, made me acquainted with 
his companions. Though alone In speaking English, Reavis 
was joined by the others In extending to me the hospitality 
of camp. In fact, every member of the party was most 
civil. The tall man proved to be no other than Don Ema- 
llano Ybarra of Calmalli, leader of the Prontinciamento of 
1875, and one of the last of the Mexican revolutionists. 
With his commanding manner, piercing black eyes and sharp 
acqulllne features, the Don fitted the part to a theatrical 
nicety. 

Siesta time over, the cavalcade turned Into the mountains 



138 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

to the southeast, bound for Santa Rosalia. Don Emaliano, 
however, took the opposite direction, first advising me that, 
if I did not mind taking chances, he would find at Calmalli 
an old Mexican willing to enter the antelope country with 
me. To Calmalli, therefore, I decided to turn my steps, 
and at sunset that afternoon my small mozo and I got under 
way and, with the stars to guide us, traveled northward for 
nigh two leagues before unsaddling for the night. The en- 
suing day, after eight leagues of travel, west and northwest, 
we arrived at the small pueblo of Calmalli where we spent 
St. Patrick's Day and a portion of the i8th, waiting for the 
Don's old Mexican to bring in from the hills two burros. 
This man's name was Castro, a designation as Indefinite on 
the California Peninsula as Is Smith in Uncle Sam's Cali- 
fornia. 

According to a lost Indian tradition, Calmalli signifies 
"the lion at the spring"; It is said to have been visited by a 
roving Spaniard In the year 1544. I'll wager on the Incor- 
rectness of that date, however. In 1883 gold placers were 
discovered In the neighborhood and prospectors from the 
four quarters of the globe forthwith flocked to the diggings. 
One of these gold seekers was described to me by Don 
Emaliano, his eyes the meantime sparkling brightly. She 
was a pretty young Americana, traveling alone, her outfit 
packed on a gray mule, her garb the regulation miner's red 
shirt, overalls, felt sombrero and heavy boots, her ready 
six-shooter strapped to her belt. Around her claim the 
mercurial Mexicans flocked at once, Intent on fond demon- 
strations. But the fair prospector had views of her own. 

"I come from Tombstone," she asserted, in perfect Span- 
ish, "Tombstone, Arizona, where three times a day the 
Coroner makes his regular rounds, and I have always done 
my modest share In furnishing him with employment. You 
must understand that I do not want any Greasers making 



INTO THE ANTELOPE COUNTRY 139 

love to me." And with this she nodded in a most cordial 
manner, swinging forward the holster of her formidable 
revolver. "I do hope, cahalleros," she concluded, smil- 
ingly, "that there will be no misunderstanding of my views," 

"She was a novel type for our gallants," chuckled Don 
Emaliano, reminiscently, and since the courtly Revolutionist, 
like most men who have braved danger, admitted a weak- 
ness for an attractive face, I should not be surprised if, in 
his presence. La Americana forgot her armament. No 
suggestion of this possibility, however, came from Don 
Emaliano. 

Some years ago three million dollars of placer gold, to- 
gether with the mining excitement, passed away from Cal- 
malli, leaving piles of torn up earth and a small, slumber- 
ing pueblo where water is scarce and a vendible commodity, 
where provisions are limited and cartridges sell at eight 
to the dollar. Also, it costs one hundred and fifty dollars 
to be married, devoutly and legally, in Calmalli. Conse- 
quently, not more than three couples have been thus united 
there. Divorce being out of the question, the three may, 
the hundred lacking formal certificates assuredly will, stay 
In harness together, for, with a strange spirit of fidelity, 
Peninsula women cling most faithfully to their men so long 
as the latter provide, even in the meagerest measure, for 
them and their children. 

My stay at Calmalli was made unexpectedly pleasant by 
the kindly attention of a Mr. Hall, an American mining 
man, near whose home I had made camp. As soon as we 
met, he Invited me to his house on the strength of my — 
color, I was about to say, forgetting for the instant that 
three months' exposure to the Mexican sun had given my 
complexion the hue of an Indian. Before accepting his 
hospitality, however, I insisted that he examine my creden- 
tials, bringing forth, even as I spoke, a sheaf of gun-per- 



I40 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

mits, passports, etc., which I kept stored away in my saddle- 
bags. As he waved these aside most good naturedly, the 
gorgeous seal on one of the documents caught his eye. This 
seal, intended primarily for Indians, had been my salvation 
with at least one tribe. It had come into my possession 
through the courtesy of Governor Pardee, of California, 
who had kindly provided me with an open letter to the Mexi- 
can authorities. His Secretary of State had attached 
thereto an immense red seal, stating that the latter would 
serve to impress the natives. 

This document held Mr. Hall's attention for a moment, 
then, after scrutinizing the official signatures, he hurriedly 
re-entered the house, leaving me bewildered by his actions. 
Indeed, in my surprise I had begun to reperuse the letter, 
seeking some clause that had perhaps escaped my notice, 
when Mr. Hall returned, bearing a generous sized bottle 
and two formidable looking glasses. "Had you only men- 
tioned at the outset," he explained, proffering a glass, "that 
you were Charley's friend," and he nodded toward the seal 
and signature of the Secretary of State, "I should have un- 
derstood your immediate needs." With that he filled high 
my glass, regardless of protestations. "Charley's my 
friend, too," he remarked, attending to the second glass. 
"Here's how!" 

Mrs, Hall, for a Mrs. Hall there was — also a visiting 
friend from Los Angeles — joined with her husband in cor- 
dial hospitality. With the three I partook of a good Ameri- 
can dinner where bread took the place of everlasting tortillas 
and where fried chicken, salad and vegetables were gen- 
erously served. The table cleared, we chatted together 
with rapidly increasing intimacy after the fashion of exiles 
come together In a strange, wild land. "Don't be too much 
impressed," explained the hostess, laughingly, "for, where 
visitors only happen In about once a year, why — even you 



INTO THE ANTELOPE COUNTRY 141 

are an event." Ultimately the ladies made a planetary- 
wheel — they both seemed partial to the occult — cast my 
horoscope and read my palm, gathering from these sources 
that the future held in store for me a vital danger, a vast 
fortune and several other interesting prospects. As I had 
picked up a few ore specimens which Mr. Hall considered 
of some value, we at once proceeded to discuss methods of 
enjoyment of the coming fortune. Indeed, we presently 
imagined ourselves dashing bravely down the Bois de Bou- 
logne behind six pure white trotting mules, their tall ears 
ornamented with the yellow flowers of the blossoming 
maguay plant, and attended by eight outriders on galloping 
burros — altogether a picture quite sufficient to send every 
self-respecting Parisian motor-car into a panic. 

On the forenoon of the i8th, after bidding these kindly 
Americans good-bye, I went on to the main part of the 
pueblo where Castro was to join me and where I expected 
to have a bit of soldering done to one of my large canteens. 
I had no difficulty in locating Castro and his two sonorous 
burros. The soldering proposition, however, was another 
matter, for the mining man with the necessary tools was 
deep in fiesta, the occasion therefor being the Saint's Day 
of young Josefa, the belle of Calmalli — her birthday, that is, 
for in Lower California an infant is named after the saint 
on whose day he is born. The mining office being de- 
serted, I directed my steps, necessarily, toward the house 
of the charming Seiiorita, where, as I had, on the previous 
day, been formally introduced, a cordial reception awaited 
me. Indeed, I was invited and urged and Invited again to 
dismount and enter the casa. Josefa and her sisters, in 
gala attire, altogether attractively pretty and neat, were re- 
ceiving. The postmaster, the revenue official and the judge 
were there, also the mining surveyor of soldering abilities 
and two or three other good looking young fellows. Two 



142 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

of these cahalleros were making music with guitar and man- 
dolin, while one of the sisters served cognac, mescal and 
sherry. 

"The American gentleman is in the nick of time," they 

said. 

"Thank you all," replied the American gentleman, "I 
cannot delay, for the day advances and the next water is 
two days distant. If I may impose a moment on the Sefior's 
time for soldering — " 

"Soldering? It will be no imposition. First, however, 
you must join in Josefa's fiesta. Anyway, the middle of the 
day is the best time for starting on a journey." 

To temporize was my only hope, so I took refreshments 
in turn with each of the Sefioritas and then, revolver and 
cartridge belt, camera and spurs temporarily discarded, I 
waltzed with Josefa and later with her sisters. Though it 
was a poor, plain little shack, this casa, with earthen floor 
and but a single room, with rude chairs and beds pressed 
back against the walls to provide space for the dancers, no 
stately ballroom was ever more radiant with the spirit of 
hospitality and welcome. The Senorltas danced gracefully 
and were extremely decorous. Josefa, just fourteen, was 
decidedly charming; her oval face, lustrous eyes and warm 
coloring would attract attention in any company. At length 
Don Emaliano, with all his lithe grace, came upon the 
scene, glasses were filled again, Josefa's health was drunk, 
so also was mine, the Don and I made speeches, then the 
other Sefiors made speeches, the pretty girls dimpled and 
smiled irresistibly; more refreshments were passed, the 
guitar and mandolin twanged merrily and every one talked 
a gay streak. These grown men, the principal citizens of 
the pueblo, were having as happy a time as children on a 
holiday, for such is the temperament of the Mexican. 
Meantime, my departure seemed a forbidden subject. 



INTO THE ANTELOPE COUNTRY I43 

When I again urged the necessity of going, therefore, the 
Sefiors argued seriously that the middle of the day was a 
bad time for the beginning of a journey, that the evening 
was even better. Finally, at noon, I parted from the hos- 
pitable people but only by rushing away with my canteen 
still unsoldered. As I spurred to the head of my caravan, 
Don Emaliano exclaimed, sorrowfully, "Ah, how can you, 
how can you ! Is not the sweet hostess far more attractive 
than any antelope?" while the Sehoritas murmured softly, 
"Adios, Sehor, Adios/' and the mandolin and guitar 
twanged a parting song. Surely, there Is no hurrying In 
Mexican California; there one is not supposed to hasten 
even after antelope! 

Anxious to make up lost time, we traveled south and 
southwest from Calmalli, without pause, for five leagues, 
passing through a hilly country and ultimately making 
camp at dusk by the camlno-slde, where the presence of 
much excellent bunch grass attracted the burros. Before the 
camp-fire I amused myself by taking note of the proportions 
of coffee and water employed by my Mexicans in making 
their beloved beverage; something more than one of the 
former to four of the latter ! Next I turned to serious study 
of Don Emallano's table of distances between waters. 
Here it is: Calmalli to Ojo Llebre, twenty leagues; Ojo 
Llebre to San Angel, twenty-four leagues; San Angel to 
San Ignacio, ten leagues. In other words, only two water- 
ing places Intervened In a stretch of one hundred and sixty- 
two miles — and even the Don, himself, was Ignorant of the 
country between Ojo Llebre and San Angel, a seventy-two 
mile stretch of desert. 

Early the ensuing morning we continued our journey 
southward. As we were now In a fine grass country where 
the tall cholla made excellent hiding places for antelope, I 
walked In the van of my outfit with carbine In hand, first 



144 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

causing the bell to be removed from Coronado, the plucky- 
leader of my train. Nevertheless, though we advanced 
thenceforth in absolute silence over the sandy trail, no 
sight of game rewarded our efforts throughout the entire 
forenoon. After making a short halt for a mid-day siesta, 
we pressed on again, with an exceedingly hot sun overhead. 
Presently, leaving the rolling hills behind, we entered upon 
the Llanos de Ojo Liebre, or Plains of a Hare's Eye, some- 
times also called Antelope Plains, an immense barren 
expanse, bordered by the San Pablo Sierras on the east, the 
Santa Clara Sierras on the south and a low horizon on the 
west. With its numerous curving swales and rounded sand 
hills, the vast field, covered with waving grasses, bobbing 
wild flowers and small, fretful leguminous plants, spread out 
before us like some billowy sea. 

Soon I saw my first prong-horn or antelope. He was to 
our left, some three hundred yards distant, scurrying away 
for all the world like some big, awkward, white-rumped 
calf unexpectedly disturbed by an approaching train. How- 
ever, despite his haste, he had an inviting, feminine trick of 
looking over his shoulder at a fellow, so I started in pur- 
suit, on foot, with carbine and camera in hand. For several 
miles I followed that provoking beast, frequently waving 
my bandana in the most orthodox, story-book fashion, but, 
though he stopped twice, peering at me Inquiringly from the 
high grass, I was unable to get a shot. Finally, settling 
down to business, he whisked out of sight with the speed of 
a greyhound. 

After staring vainly at the heat-waves and sand hills that 
had swallowed up my tantalizing quarry, I concluded that it 
was time to return to my outfit; but look as I might, I could 
see nothing except the undulating plain with its sand and 
grass. Moreover, the sun was hot and the excitement of 
the chase gone. I realized that I was deadly thirsty and 



INTO THE ANTELOPE COUNTRY 145 

that my canteen was tied on my saddle. Alarmed over the 
situation, I circled about most wildly, signalling with my 
revolver, waving a bandana from hillock tops and carrying 
on generally like a lost child. Finally, collecting my wits, I 
back-tracked — ^no easy trick where the grass grew. Next, I 
found the camino, but my outfit was not in sight. By the 
time I caught up with my people darkness had fallen and 
my thirst was maddening. Invigorated by great gulps of 
water, I roundly abused Castro for deserting me. He, 
however, explained that Jesus had understood the first 
handkerchief waving to be a signal for them to move for- 
ward. After some growling, I simmered down; under the 
circumstances there was nothing else to do. 

We rode on for a time in heavy silence and then, dis- 
mounting, proceeded on foot, thus resting the burros. The 
side-winders, however, were also using the camino and their 
presence robbed pedestrianism of all Its pleasure. A "side- 
winder," let It be understood. Is a short, extremely poisonous, 
rattlesnake that prefers the night time for his travels; he 
acquires his name from the peculiar manner In which he 
throws his coils when In motion. First Coronado, and then 
the other burros right on down the line, would jump aside 
with a wild snort of angry terror whereupon we would do 
a bit of side-stepping, ourselves, for the commotion signified 
that some vicious side-winder had the right of way. This 
jumping business got on my nerves so completely that at 
8.30 P. M. I ordered a halt for the night, much to Castro's 
disapproval, since It was a dry camp, we had but a half pint 
of water on hand and Calmalll was fifty wilderness miles 
behind us. 

Daylight, on the 20th, showed tracks of side-winders 
about our blankets and a small clump of young cottonwoods 
a half league dead ahead. Hastening forward with our 
thirsty burros, we shortly arrived at the clump. In the shade 



146 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

of tcie trees were two pools of water, known as the Pozo 
de Ojo Liehre, or Well of a Hare's Eye, though why so 
named I am unable to explain. I will, therefore, merely 
submit Castro's dictum that "the tradition is lost, Sefior." 
My first information concerning this water-hole had come 
from an old journal. Before entering Mexico I had pro- 
vided myself with copies of such logs and journals of Lower 
California travel as were to be found — a strangely limited 
number. From the Ross Browne collection of 1867 I was 
aware that to cross the Llanos de Ojo Llebre was a venture 
that his party dared not essay; indeed, it had been reported 
to them that "from San Ignacio to San Angel, a salt, al- 
most undrinkable water, is seven leagues; from San Angel 
the next water is Ojo Liebre, thirty leagues. Ojo Llebre 
is much resorted to by coyotes and wild animals, many of 
which are drowned in it and the water is said to be unen- 
durably foul. From Ojo Liebre the next water is twenty 
leagues. The water is not to be depended on." However, 
this data had not deterred me, for, in my foolishness, I 
was rather hankering after adventures, and there is nothing 
venturesome in exploring known regions or keeping to open 
trails. Therefore, after drafting Castro into service on his 
reputation of having crossed, in boyhood, from Ojo Liebre 
to San Angel I had entered this sinister region heedless of 
consequences ; Castro on his part, had come to me inquiring 
concerning my public offer of wages: a bonus of five pesos, 
extra, for a sight of a berrendo within two hundred yards, 
and a promise of much came, after such sight, had won 
him completely. 

We spent a day at Ojo Liebre. During the forenoon 
we boiled and strained water, a precaution which greatly 
amused my companions, who could see no objection to swal- 
lowing the myriads of small red Insects inhabiting the well. 
In the afternoon Castro and I explored a vast salt bed a 



INTO THE ANTELOPE COUNTRY 147 

few miles distant, being amazed by the marvelous mirages 
flitting above the brilliant salt; next we swung away toward 
the Pacific Ocean. Between floundering in the salt bogs and 
slipping about the sand-hills, we had a sad time of it. Not 
far distant was grim Black Warrior Lagoon, the scene of 
the wrecking of many whaling vessels and the loss of many 
lives from the time of the ill-fated Tower Castle, whose 
crew, in 1838, escaped the waves only to die of thirst. The 
last survivor of this ship closed his journal with these hope- 
less words: "I have observed the symptoms of my com- 
panions; it is but reasonable to expect that my time will soon 
come, for I now experience those same symptoms." As 
this historical data, gleaned from a coast report which I 
carried in my saddle-bags, rather gave me the shivers, I 
swerved away from the treacherous coast and hunted until 
evening for antelope, getting better acquainted, the mean- 
time, with Castro. Well past the threescore mark, he was 
quick-witted, full of dry humor, something of a philosopher 
and a born tracker. In appearance he was slight and 
wizened. After supper I set him to work — ^while I boiled 
more water for the journey — soldering the leaky canteen, 
which he did with metal taken from an empty meat can. 

During our absence Jesus, urged on by a boy's appetite 
and keenly alive to the prospective dry camps and conse- 
quent limited cookery before us, had prudently fried some 
twenty tortillas. In the preparation of these cakes — a 
staple article of native diet on the Peninsula — a liberal sup- 
ply of water is required, for though a mozo may at other 
times neglect his ablutions he never fails to rinse his hands 
before mixing tortillas. This preliminary rite concluded, the 
Mexican proceeds to mix flour, salt — and lard, if he pos- 
sess it — with sufiicient water to produce a thick dough, 
which he then breaks up into balls the size of a hen's egg. 
He next takes these spheres, one by one, between his palms 



148 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

and by a rotary motion of the hands, varied by occasional 
kneading between the fingers, flattens each one into a circu- 
lar cake some twelve inches in diameter by an eighth of an 
inch in thickness. Tortillas are cooked, one at a time, on 
any sort of an unswabbed iron griddle that may be avail- 
able. Not infrequently they receive a delectable further 
browning by being unceremoniously cast upon the embers. 
If made with little or no lard and well kneaded, these cakes 
are excellent to eat and easily digested. The evening well 
advanced, the tortillas cooked and the water boiled, we 
sought our blankets, ready to enter the desert on the mor- 
row. 



CHAPTER XII 



THIRST : 



EARLY in the morning of Wednesday, the twenty- 
first, we broke camp, bound for San Angel, the next 
water, distant, according to Castro, just three days. 
To meet the prospective thirst we had my saddle canteen, 
containing half a gallon, the mended canteen with two gal- 
lons, and a third holding two and a half gallons. Before 
taking our departure, we drank abundantly and, for the 
sake of future wayfarers, I planted several palm seeds about 
the pozOy while my Mexicans, less altruistically inclined, 
drove the burros to the water's edge. The animals, how- 
ever, having slacked their thirst the previous day, stubbornly 
refused to drink. We headed for the southeast, following 
a faint trail which, Castro averred, had been made by the 
gold seekers bound for the Sacramento Placers in 1849-50, 
many of whom came from Panama to La Paz and thence 
overland, hundreds of leagues northward. For half a 
century the trail had not been used. It was dead. Frag- 
ments of glass from broken bottles, a line of grass slightly 
darker than that at Its sides and as erect as the trimmed 
mane of a mule — these were all that marked the course of 
the old pioneers. 

Finally we came to a number of stones laid upon an 
alkali surface of barren ground. They were In the form of 
a cross and their points Indicated the four quarters of the 
compass. We agreed that this was the work of the ancient 
Padres. I even thought It possibly a relic of Padre Slgls- 

149 



150 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

mundo Taravel, who crossed these plains and explored Ced- 
ros Island in 1730. Beyond this cross there was no sign of 
a trail. Once, indeed, the track of a burro crossed our 
course but, on examination, Castro and Jesus pronounced it 
to be that of a wild burro, though how they reached their 
conclusion concerning this bronco when all Peninsula burros 
are left unshod is more than I can say. However, accept- 
ing the track as a possible token of our being in the neigh- 
borhood of the old camino, we immediately spread out like 
a fan and traveled in that order for several fruitless hours. 
Then the ground became decidedly rolling, with thickets of 
cholla and palma del monte growing on the swells and mak- 
ing it difficult for us to pick our way forward even in single 
file. In one of these thickets Jesus got lost at dusk while 
pursuing a rabbit, so Castro and I, after vainly calling, 
made camp and built a large fire. After climbing a palma 
del monte the boy perceived the brilliant reflection and 
reached camp rejoicing. 

That night a heavy fog moistened the grass, to the great 
relief of the thirsty burros. In the morning the mist was 
so dense that Castro had a wearisome chase and lost time in 
locating his burros, which had strayed away during the 
night, doubtless searching for water; and next my compass 
came into play. I led off on the course we had been follow- 
ing when the trail pinched out the preceding day, that is 17 
degrees south of east. The fog lifted about ten — I could 
only estimate the hour, for my watch had been broken for 
over a month — and soon after, while crossing a cardon and 
cholla covered hill, I came upon a cinnamon colored wild cat 
enjoying a sun bath on the limb of a giant cactus. Two 
quick rifle shots disturbed pussy's slumbers and he disap- 
peared from sight, sliding into a hole in the limb. Hearing 
the racket and thinking of extra pesos and much came, my 
Mexicans rushed up, crying out, "An antelope, an antelope?" 



THIRST 151 

They were crestfallen when I replied, "No, un gato de 
campo." (No, a wild cat). Unfortunately, the beast had 
not fallen to the ground; In fact, the blood-stained edge of 
the hollow in the limb evidenced the necessity of someone's 
ascending the tree and making Investigations. When I sug- 
gested that one of them climb after the gato, both Castro 
and Jesus looked troubled, and accordingly, to preserve that 
surest safeguard vouchsafed to the exploring American, his 
reputed national disregard of all dangers, I pulled myself 
into the cardan, revolver ready. Facing the retreat of an 
angry cat not being especially attractive, I was decidedly re- 
lieved to find the creature lifeless. 

Meantime, the burros had wandered away and, upon 
rounding them up, my Mexican called to me in sudden 
alarm. Hurrying forward, to my dismay I found that the 
burro carrying the recently mended canteen had run Into a 
cardan with the result that the solder had come loose, let- 
ting the water, save perhaps a cup full, leak out. This was 
more serious, for we had been drawing heavily on the other 
large canteen, and in my saddle canteen there was barely a 
pint remaining. Nor was this all: In the blankness of the 
situation Castro confessed that he did not know where we 
were, that he had never before crossed this section of the 
great plains. In other words, expecting to find the old cam- 
ino distinct, he had been tempted to undertake the trip for 
the sake of the promised pesos. However, he said he knew 
the Agua of San Angel and that it could not be over a day 
distant. 

It was now nearly noon. We pressed on and very 
shortly the face of the country changed, becoming more open 
and very sandy. In many places, moreover, the earth was 
honeycombed with underground runways of gophers or 
similar burrowing creatures so that the burros broke through 
at every step. Their consequent jolting gait was overlooked 



152 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

by us in the more serious consequence of the resulting slow 
advance. The heat, also, now became intense and at lunch 
time Castro, realizing our condition, advised against the 
eating of any kind of meat lest our thirst be thereby in- 
creased. A few lettuce leaves, the remnant of a present 
given by the Halls, were so fresh and cooling to the palate 
that we relished them greatly. 

Early in the afternoon we came upon three antelope, 
though I, personally, saw only one, a fine prong-horn buck. 
I was off my riding burro instantly, and signalling 
my men to keep the train in motion, dropped on 
one knee and began pumping lead at the buck, a fair 
mark, facing me at two hundred yards. Certainly that 
antelope had never before seen a man, for he stood 
calmly for two shots before turning tail. Running for- 
ward I saw no blood, but Immediately caught sight of my 
game racing down a wide swale. After three shots, 
he fell, kicking violently. I rushed in pursuit, dropped 
my carbine and was drawing my camera from Its case when 
the poor creature stumbled to Its feet and made off across 
the swale. I supposed the buck would fall again, imme- 
diately, but he kept on until three more shots grounded him. 
Then I hurried forward to observe this, my first antelope. 
Five bullets had struck true, two of them coming out near 
together, just below the spine, and making a rent as large as 
a man's hand. He was a true Mexican prong-horn — a 
delicate, beautiful creature; white and tan and black, with 
graceful, black prong horns set just above large eyes, and 
with the long, well-turned head of a blooded greyhound. 
The flashing eyes of a cornered stag or the green orbs of a 
fighting big-horn have never appealed to me as did this 
dying antelope. His great, frightened, gazelle eyes looked 
up to me with so pathetic and reproachful an expression that 
I would gladly have given him back his life had such power 



THIRST 153 

been mine. Even now I feel regret rather than pride as I 
recall those great limpid eyes. 

That night we made camp in a small clump of palmas del 
monte, our stock standing disconsolately about, too thirsty 
to seek their food. Dried biscuits and lettuce leaves suf- 
ficed for our supper. I sat up quite late preparing the an- 
telope's head, intending to have it mounted for an approach- 
ing birthday of my sister-in-law. Before turning in, Castro 
and I put out several tin plates for the sake of a possible 
fall of dew. We did not sleep much. I awoke about mid- 
night with my throat craving water. I drained nearly a 
cup, more, in fact, than my share for the time. 

Friday morning there were a few drops of dew in the 
plate, we licked them up thirstily; then, careless of the ante- 
lope steaks, ate dried biscuit and baked potatoes. After 
this slight repast, we drew in our belts and pursued our 
easterly course, the fog saving us from the heat for a couple 
of hours. Our stock of water now consisted of two cup- 
fuls, and all that relieved the seriousness of the position 
was Castro's assurance that by noon we would strike either 
the Calmalli-San Ignacio camino or the Agua of San Angel. 

For two leagues we traveled over firm ground, radiant 
with wild flowers growing to the shoulders of the burros. 
Then the soil once more became loose and yielding, cholla 
and cardones superseded the wild flowers and, to the increas- 
ing torment of our thirst, was added the constant menace of 
cactus thorns. Gradually, we ascended the rising slope of 
the sierras, the ground changing to a rock heap, densely 
grown with the pernicious cholla, palmas del monte and car- 
dones. With our advance came the greater heat of the day, 
bringing Intense thirst and grave anxiety. Ultimately, noon 
grew near, and with sinking spirits we were forced to admit 
that there were no signs of any camino approaching our 
line of march from the northwest — Calmalll way. By mid- 



154 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

day we had arrived at a small arroyo on a high mesa ; here 
we paused briefly, to extract thorns, rest and relish a half 
spoonful, each, of water. White-limbed, fresh-looking 
falos blancos were growing about us, but in the absence of 
water their very freshness was derisively cruel. Castro 
now urged that we bear away into the sierras to the north. 
Mindful of the advice given me in February by my friend, 
Sefior Dick, however, I refused to consider this suggestion 
and later in the day, with threatening revolver, enforced 
my determination of pursuing, without the slightest varia- 
tion, the course which we had adopted Wednesday after- 
noon. Could we but hold out, this would bring us to some 
one of the caminos running into San Ignacio from the north 
or south, while straying would merely serve to eat up our 
endurance. For twenty-four hours, dead ahead against 
the eastern horizon we had seen, except during darkness 
and fog, a mighty cleft peak, our adopted landmark, indi- 
cating to us the direction we had chosen — 17 degrees south 
of east. From this course there should be no turning. 

After our brief rest, we pressed on over flat rocky ridges 
and across sandy arroyos, the whole country being nearly 
impassable because of the dense thickets of cacti and under- 
growths. In the forenoon, we had crossed several small 
water courses, parched, salt-stained by the evaporation of 
alkali water; now each successive arroyo wore a fresh, ver- 
dant carpet that deceitfully Invited us to hasten forward 
but, on near approach, always proved to be flowering creep- 
ers, entangling gourd-vines, stubborn cacti — Dead Sea fruit 
for our terrible thirst. Meantime, Castro and I were com- 
pelled, again and again, to dismount and hack a passage 
through the deterring growths. Finally, we continued on 
foot, grim, silent figures, moving forward, forward, ready 
machetes In hand. Early In the afternoon the Mexicans had 
split open a young viznaga, or barrel or fish-hook cactus, 



THIRST 155 

and carved out great chunks of the firm, interior flesh; fol- 
lowing their example, I was soon chewing some of this to a 
pulp. It looked like an apple and yielded considerable 
juice, but our bodies had become so dry and our throats so 
parched that we craved great gulps of water rather than 
this impalatable moisture. Perhaps an hour later Castro 
bent down suddenly, with a low gasp of delight, and 
wrenched loose from a crevice among the rocks a small 
plant made up of a number of pale delicate shoots. Ex- 
plaining that this was the siempre vivens and muy bueno, 
the old fellow equably divided up the shoots. We chewed 
them greedily. The siempre vivens in its appearance 
greatly resembles the lily of the valley — always a favorite 
flower with me, now doubly so, for the leaves and flower 
stems of this, its desert cousin, proved to be juicy and an 
astringent, by no means unpleasant, to the throat and 
tongue. 

Over seventy hours had elapsed since our poor burros had 
had water! Now, however, I shortly noticed a wise old 
burro of Castro's, and Cabrillo, my large, half bronco 
burro, tearing at a small, cylindrical cactus. The Mexicans 
at once nodded approvingly, and sighting another similar 
cactus, tore it loose for the burros. This cactus — not over 
an inch in diameter by four in height — they termed the 
chiquita pithaya. It contained much moisture. Almost 
immediately we were still further encouraged by the sight 
of two doves which, according to the Mexicans, betokened 
the proximity of water. As the hours dragged by, how- 
ever, without materialization of these hopes, our spirits fell 
lower than ever. 

Darkness found us on a rocky mesa where we unpacked. 
After pushing aside the large loose stones and opening our 
blankets on the half cleared spots, we sank down apatheti- 
cally, heedless of the numerous stones remaining. For sup- 



156 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

per we ate baked potatoes, lump sugar and prunes. Each 
of us also gulped down a spoonful dole of water: this left 
us less than a cupful in stock. 

Neither of the Mexicans had as yet uttered a word of 
complaint, nor did they now. Jesus, poor boy, lay for- 
lornly on his blanket, careless of the stones beneath. His 
eyes looked preternaturally large and pathetic. Feeling 
that death was probably near at hand, my main regret was 
for him. Castro was reaping the chances of his specula- 
tion. I had challenged fate by attempting to explore the 
country, but poor Jesus was a mere pawn indentured to me 
by his father. Eventually, I made a few entries In my 
journal, smiling grimly as I noted that they filled out the last 
page In the volume. By this time Jesus had sunk Into 
broken slumber; Castro, swathed In his serapa, crouched 
by the small fire; with tired muscles relaxed, I was stretched 
out at length on my blankets, disheartened and hopeless. 
Fortunately for me, sleep came, bringing temporary relief. 

With a feverish start I awoke, possessed by a maddening 
thirst. The air was cruelly dry. No dampening mist had 
rolled in to cool us. The night was silent and starry. At 
other times in my life I had been on long stretches without 
water and had suffered from thirst — but never like this. 

With a ghastly alertness Ideas and thoughts came march- 
ing down the pathways of my brain and instantly I thus 
summed up the situation : We have little water and no sup- 
ply is near — San Angel has evidently been passed to our 
right — and yet our parched condition Is such that our sys- 
tems Imperatively demand refreshment. However, we 
have but a few drops of water and the nature of the country 
Is such that even with fresh animals or greater individual 
energy there could be no hastening forward more rapidly 
toward San Ignaclo. Unquestionably even more terrific 
thirst will come and with It — Death. 



THIRST 157 

And yet death always seems the other fellow's portion, 
and while one is possessed of vigor its immediate personal 
proximity is hard to realize. Then it came over me that 
the many other poor devils who had met death by thirst on 
the Lower California deserts had doubtless found a similar 
difficulty in realizing the nearness of the end. On the heels 
of this thought there flashed across my mind the closing 
entry made by the last of the crew of the "Tower Castle," 
and I repeated to myself, "It is but reasonable to expect that 
my time will soon come." Yes, reason pointed that way for, 
face to face with the domination, the angry gripping of such 
maddening thirst, our minds certainly would shortly lose 
their balance, their grasp, and from an experience with 
tragedies of the desert I knew that such mental unbalancing 
— insanity — was the prelude, the first step, incident to death 
by thirst. 

At this I grew rebellious. I would not give in. I was 
not fated to die In such manner — not yet, at least. More- 
over, I belonged to the superior nation and I must keep up 
my end before my Mexicans. With this there flitted across 
my mind the gay pictures of fortune predicted by the kindly 
ladles at Calmalll and I found sardonic amusement In blam- 
ing them as false prophetesses. My thoughts hurried on 
and I began to consider a plan. Meantime I ate a few bis- 
cuit crumbs and lumps of sugar, moistened with a teaspoon- 
ful of whiskey. Next I seized upon my journal and made 
a brief closing note across the margin of the last page ; then, 
scrawling on its cover my brother's address and a simple 
direction In Spanish that It be sent to him, I tied the book 
with a strong cord and slipped It Into my saddle-bags. 

Looking up from this, I saw Castro's eyes upon me. He 
evidently had understood the Intent of my actions, for he 
nodded approvingly. Passing from him my glance wan- 
dered across the mesa, with its cholla and kindred shadows; 



158 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

it noted the mist that had stayed on the plains below; for an 
instant it viewed the clear sky giving sinister promise of an 
early day of heat, then again fell upon the old Mexican in 
his serapa. On the spur of the moment I addressed him in 
English: "How now, old boy?" I said, forcing a grin. 
Though the words were meaningless to him, the spirit he 
appreciated and a smile, brave but frightfully ghastly, crept 
over his wizened features and seemed to run like some stray 
electric current out into his crisp gray curls. Presently in 
hollow tones that I even yet recall, he made his answer. 
*'Senor," he said, "mahana, mahana no agua, mahana tardes 
— nosotros miiertus/' (Sir, to-morrow morning no water, 
to-morrow afternoon — we die.) His words voiced the con- 
clusions that I had not dared express. I shivered, and 
then, "Si, senor," I replied, quietly. 

For a long time after this we sat by the coals, brooding 
silently. Then he made inquiry whether I had wife and 
children. I shook my head. "Bueno," he muttered, and 
without further words I knew the trend of his thoughts. 
Later I secured an hour of broken sleep, but long ere dawn 
Castro roused both Jesus and me that we might lose no pos- 
sible chance of travel before the heat of the day. Suffering 
though I was, I could but note the quiet, even way in which 
both Mexicans went after the burros — poor creatures, they 
had stayed near by, their heads hanging disconsolately — and 
put on the packs, performing their wonted duties as faith- 
fully as though the brightest prospects were before them. 
In response to a query as to how he felt, Jesus answered 
simply, "Muy mala, Senor." 

To lighten the loads of our weary burros, I had regret- 
fully directed Castro to throw aside the forequarters of the 
antelope. At the same time I divested myself of my cam- 
era, spurs, cartridges, even of my revolver, placing them all 
In my cantinas; thus lightly accoutered, and armed only with 



THIRST 159 

a short machete, I was prepared for the finish of the chapter. 
I now submitted the plan on which I had determined : if we 
found no water or camino by midday, the burros should be 
unpacked, unsaddled and turned loose, the Mexicans should 
put up my small tent and lie quietly in its shade while I, as 
the hardiest In the party, should push on ahead, find San 
Ignacio — if possible — and then hasten rapidly back on a 
fresh animal, bringing with me a supply of water. Castro 
approved of this scheme, Jesus nodded and we began the 
day's march. 

This was Saturday, the 24th of March. For three days 
we had been traveling in a dry, smothering atmosphere, 
where extreme perspiration is the rule. On Wednesday 
we had had a reasonable amount of water, some five cups 
each. Thursday we had had probably three cups each, Fri- 
day not over three spoonfuls — and on this day Castro and I 
had been on foot most of the day and the brush had been 
dense. We began Saturday with a spoonful each: three 
spoonfuls remained. A personal experience of this nature 
is not pleasant to recall, and I shall hurry over our further 
sufferings. 

A deep chasm soon confronted us, but after much diffi- 
culty we found a place where we could descend and down 
which we persuaded the burros to venture; poor creatures, 
they seemed to realize that It was no time to be stubborn 
over steep places for, with Coronado leading bravely, they 
jumped after me from boulder to boulder. In one place 
we found a number of the siempre vivens growing and these 
we seized upon with avidity. On we went, down one moun- 
tain side and up another. None of us had anything to say. 
Once or twice the Mexicans were disposed to stray from 
our course, but I grimly persuaded them Into line. About 
eleven In the forenoon, while searching in a side arroyo for 
a possible tinaja, I came across a group of graves. This 



i6o CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

dispiriting discovery I kept from Jesus, though I made it 
known to Castro. The old man shook his head, briefly- 
remarking that doubtless some considerable party had died 
of thirst and that we would soon be in the like fix — only 
we might have to wait a time for stones to be piled over us ! 
This set me to thinking of an ancestor hunt I had once 
made in an overgrown cemetery at Newtown, Long Island, 
and I began to chuckle over the recollection that even the 
most magnificent tombstones in that cemetery were entirely 
neglected. The note of insanity which rang In my laughter 
checked these thoughts, sharply; but In another moment 
ghoulish memory was picturing the appearances of the vari- 
ous dead men whom I had chanced upon at different times 
and particularly one found near Lake Tahoe; above this 
man's body I had helped place a rude board. Inscribed from 
the Psalms, "The mountains shall bring peace." 

The recollection of this Inscription still sharp In my brain, 
a dull effort to find a proper translation In Spanish engross- 
ing my attention, laughter on my lips — to such a state had I 
come, when I saw near at hand the familiar parallel lines of 
stones which mark a roadway of the time of the padres. 
My wild cry, *'Un camino, iin caminof" brought my com- 
panions hurrying forward with strained, doubting expres- 
sions that were pathetic. 

After following this trail — It came from the southwest, 
San Angel way, we learned later — for a few rods, we 
halted and wet our lips with the few drops remaining In 
the canteen and which we had been keeping, tacitly, for the 
first who should give out. Assuaging the further poignancy 
of our sufferings by chewing viznaga pulp, we kept on for 
about ten miles. Then, unexpectedly, the blank rocky mesa, 
over which we were traveling opened before us. At the 
bottom of the chasm, five or six hundred feet below, lay a 
long, narrow valley, of perhaps two thousand acres, with 



THIRST i6l 

water — pools of fine, rippling water flowing through 
green masses of sedge — and palms — thousands of tall, 
graceful palms, shading numerous thatched houses — and 
over to the further side a beautiful stone church with spires 
and belfry rising aloft Up the trail came a homelike cow, 
closely followed by three little barefoot girls, clad in pink 
and red. 

Off came my sombrero. "Hurrah, hurrah!" I cried 
hoarsely. 

"San Ignacio, San Ignacio," mumbled old Castro, while 
Jesus, hysterically laughing, cried out, "Agua, agua!" 



Part II 
THE WIDENING OF THE TRAIL 



CHAPTER XIII 

SAN IGNACIO, THE FAVORED 

DOWN the camino we plunged, following hard In the 
wake of our thirst-crazed burros. Some slow 
dragging moments brought us into the midst of a 
group of natives lounging In dreamy apathy before the open 
doorway of a small shack built against the base of the cliff. 
^'Agua, agua!'' we demanded, gaspingly, with naught by 
way of preliminary greeting. Our hoarse, broken voices, 
our dry, mumbling lips, our frenzied manner, our burros 
wading belly-deep in the stream beyond : no need to amplify 
such signs to children of an arid land, to a people reared 
amid tragedies of the desert. On the instant, seizing cups 
and gourds they dipped up cooling water from an earthen 
olla, splashing our dry faces, our dry necks, our dry arms 
with large gourds of blessed water, then they gave us each 
a brimming cup, a great, cooling, life-renewing cup of wa- 
ter, cautioning us the meantime lest we drink overmuch. 

And thus I came to San Ignacio, the favored. That we 
were in an out-of-the-world place was now brought home 
to me, for my accent disclosing my nationality, one of the 
natives exclaimed, "Ah, Senor, you are an Americano! 
Ten months past there were here two of your compatriots, 
bird collectors from your great city of Washington. But 
they came hither safely, having taken the upper, the well- 
beaten camino. Ah, three strange Americanos within the 
year!" 

Soon we made camp in the shade of two great olive trees 

165 



1 66 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

where my tent opened out upon the stream and where palms 
and orange trees were near by. Thoroughly exhausted, 
we stretched out in the shade, now and again drinking more 
water or eating luscious fruit, for we were well supplied 
with oranges, lemons, dates and sugar-cane, gifts of kindly 
people who had come quietly to our camp with their offer- 
ing as soon as the news of our fearful experience had reached 
them. In the late afternoon, with sharp clatter of hoofs 
there dashed by a party of gentlemen mounted on spirited 
Durangian horses, with silver mounted bridles and saddles 
and carrying long swords thrust under the left knees. Later, 
a gay party of these Caballeros, with Sigfioras and Serioritas 
in their midst, swept by, bowing gravely as they passed, and 
calling forth in courteous tones, "Biienas tardes, Senor; 
buenas tardes" Though seated in strangely designed side- 
saddles, the ladies rode with extreme grace. The peculiar 
features of these saddles consisted in the hanging of the stir- 
rup at the right side of the horse and in the presence of a 
high back or support which arose above the cantel and ex- 
tended to the left. 

Noting, In a dazed manner, these passers by, I rested 
quietly in camp, accepting the readily given Information of 
not Infrequent visitors. Meantime I drank water; by 
nightfall I had absorbed over two gallons and yet I craved 
more; Indeed, there seemed no abatement to my thirst, my 
parched system absorbing the moisture as the desert sands 
drink in the drops of a rare August thunder shower. The 
following day found me feverishly nervous. Fortunately, 
however, a delightful young cahallero, Senor Vlllavacenslo, 
soon appeared and, seemingly appreciative of my mood, 
took me for a stroll along the winding, palm-shaded streets 
of the pueblo and through the quaint precincts of the ancient 
mission. Before my Interest In these scenes had even be- 
gun to abate he turned toward a substantial residence where 



SAN IGNACIO^ THE FAVORED 167 

I was formally presented to a dignified Senora and her two 
daughters, who Inquired kindly concerning my home and 
my welfare. From this pleasant home we passed on to 
another and another, finding in each the same genial hos- 
pitality. With their bright eyes, soft voices, fluttering fans 
and easy grace the Seiiorltas were altogether adorable ; win- 
some, nut-brown maids, every one of them, their pretty 
faces set off by the fascinating rebozo, or Mexican head- 
dress. 

Our calls concluded, we dropped In at a cantina and then 
another and another, finding in each drinking, smoking and 
billiard playing, but no drunkenness. We drank mediocre 
imported beer at four reales the small glass and a fine qual- 
ity of native wine at half a real the generous sized glass. 
With evening came the sound of guitars and violin and I 
was ushered into an adobe where a haile or ball was in prog- 
ress. The principal citizens of the pueblo were In attend- 
ance, dancing gravely with the Seiiorltas while the Senoras 
looked on with seeming content. I was courteously Intro- 
duced to several of the young ladles and I found them ex- 
cellent waltzers even though our dancing floor was earthen. 
Between the dances mescal was passed for the men and wine 
and beer for the women, but none Indulged too freely. The 
scarcity of bachelors was noticeable. This was explained 
to me by the statement that the majority of the young men 
were employed In the copper mines at Santa Rosalia, too 
far distant to permit of their attendance at the halle. 

Surely of San Ignacio I can write only in the kindliest vein 
and such, I am sure must also be the attitude even of those 
who have neither been rescued by Its streams nor taken cap- 
tive by the charm of Its history and traditions for, with its 
oasis-like aspect and the Impulsive hospitality of the inhabi- 
tants, the little pueblo Is a delightful place, marvelously in- 
viting to the traveler. By whatever camino he may ap- 



1 68 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

proach, it comes as a surprise, the rocky mesa opening 
unexpectedly before him and disclosing the verdant arroyo 
below, with its tens of thousands of waving palms, its glis- 
tening orange trees, its green sedges gemmed with pools of 
limpid water, its thatched roofed jacales — shacks made of 
thatch — its substantial, flat roofed adobes and magnificent 
stone mission church. There are a thousand inhabitants in 
the narrow valley. They cultivate about two thousand 
acres of rich, well-watered, ashy loam, volcanic in its origin 
and of surpassing fertility, which rewards them with pros- 
perity. In the arroyo of San Ignacio oranges, lemons, 
sugar-cane, olives, figs and grapes mature, unchallenged by 
frost, while palms — sixty thousand, it is said, grow in pro- 
fusion; the fan palm, useful for thatching, and the red, 
green, yellow and black date palm all are there. Enough 
grain is raised and enough leather prepared for home con- 
sumption, while long trains of burros and mules carry away 
for export cargoes of fresh and dried fruits, wine and a 
native sugar called panoche. 

The history of this favored valley is that of its mission. 
Nigh two ceaturies ago a Jesuit explorer, one Sistiago, came 
exultantly to Loreto, reporting the discovery of a deep 
arroyo with much water and sedge grass and many Indians. 
Happy coincidence : even then a caravel was entering the 
ofiing bringing to California Padre Juan Bautista Luyando, 
a brilliant and socially accomplished missionary, eager to 
establish, personally, a mission dedicated to San Ignacio, the 
founder of the Society of Jesus. To Kadakaman, or the 
Valley of Sedges, therefore, the two padres, pioneer and 
aristocrat, hastened, founding there the Mission of San 
Ignacio de Kadakaman. 

This was In the year 1728. Some three decades before 
Padre Juan Maria Salvatlerra, a priest of the Society of 
Jesus, a native of Milan, of noble parentage and ancient 



SAN IGNACIO, THE FAVORED 169 

Spanish descent, had landed, with an escort of six soldiers, 
on the east coast of the Peninsula. In the seventy years 
succeeding this event and ending with their expulsion in 
1768, the Jesuits established such a network of missions 
throughout the Peninsula that, although the eighteenth cen- 
tury was pre-eminently a fervid period of mission construc- 
tion in their Spanish Majesties' realms, in no portion thereof 
was more ardor shown than in California. Not the Cali- 
fornia of these days, but the Isla de California as it was 
termed by the early chroniclers, the mysterious "Island" 
of pearls, mermaidens, Amazons and treasure, now classed 
as the Mexican territory of Baja California and, aside from 
its name, relatively as much a terra incognita as in the days 
when voyagers charted it as an island and peopled its val- 
leys with roving and alluring Amazons. 

Of the substantial work accomplished by the energetic 
Jesuits during the threescore and ten years of their Cali- 
fornia service, San Ignacio was the pivotal point, second 
only to sacred Loreto. From the year of its dedication 
the mission was the starting point for their venturesome 
explorers and an enticing field for their scholarly priests. . 
At the time of the expulsion of these padres the church and 
subsidiary buildings at San Ignacio were still in course of 
construction; completed, a few years later, by the Domini- 
cans, they were thereafter considered among the finest in 
the country. 

The Mission of San Ignacio has its traditions as well 
as its history: A queen of Spain, it is said, gave a million 
and a half of pesos for its construction and over fifty years 
of labor were required for its completion; in the distant 
Santa Clara Sierra, within sight of the lofty spires of the 
church, lies hid away the mysterious Lost Mission of Santa 
Clara ; finally, saintly padres have been interred before the 
altar of San Ignacio and beneath it there is secreted a 



170 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

mighty chest of treasure. Short has been the shrift allotted 
to the wickedly avaricious who have sought this treasure; 
for should it once be disturbed then the slumbering volcanic 
fires in the mighty Tres Virgenes will awaken and over- 
whelm San Ignacio with lava. It is a pity that the volcano 
did not give a few threatening rumbles a short time since, 
for by so doing it might have saved the altar from being 
pillaged, under the cloak of legal authority, of many of its 
precious gold and silver ornaments. The long knives of 
the natives, however, will doubtless protect the traditional 
treasure. 

It is part history and part tradition that In early times 
the Padres gathered at San Ignacio a library of rare books 
and precious charts. Even less than sixty years ago these 
treasures were seen. After diligent search I found, in the 
hands of an old San Ignacio family, the remains of this 
library: two poor, lone volumes. Both were printed in 
illuminated type, done at Rome "Superioriim Permissu," 
one under date of 1723, the other, 1783. The ancient 
leather and wood bindings, the broken Iron clasps and the 
quaint print of these relics would cause any normal anti- 
quary to thrill with covetousness. Church ceremonials. Holy 
Days and other religious matters were the subjects consid- 
ered in these books. Near Santa Gertrudis I had found 
others not unlike them, but with this greater Interest: the 
illustrations had been designed to appeal to the natives, the 
Roman Centurions, for Instance, being mounted on mules 
accoutered with the shoulder and crupper straps In use on 
the steep camlnos of the Peninsula. 

The Mission of San Ignacio Is remarkably well pre- 
served. In outward appearance It Is so like the Franciscan 
Mission of San Luis Rey in the State of California that I 
rather expect the latter must have been designed from it. 
The church, the usual ell and the wall surrounding the patio 



SAN IGNACIO, THE FAVORED 17 1 

Stand practically untouched by time. At all hours of the 
day veiled Sefioras and smiling girls enter the wide portals 
of the church to kneel in prayer before its ancient altar. 
The Post Office and the village school — with soft voiced 
urchins repeating aloud their lessons — are located in the 
commodious ell, while an elderly, rotund and jovial maker 
of leather, father of a sloe-eyed Sefiorita, inhabits still an- 
other portion of the priest-forsaken quarters. All the 
buildings are of cut stone. Approaching the church, which 
opens upon the usual plaza, one climbs two flights of steps 
before entering the lofty arched doorway with its massive 
hard-wood double doors. The walls are four feet in thick- 
ness. The interior, though but seven paces in width, floor 
measurement, is even of greater length than the church at 
San Borja, while the extreme height, under a superb dome, 
must be over twenty metres. Above the altar there are a 
number of magnificent oil paintings done by Italian brushes 
in the eighteenth century, while below and to the right and 
left are extensive alcoves, each with Its individual shrine. 
Finally, the floor of the church is composed of hewn stone 
cubes, set closely together. 

As the junction of numerous caminos which lead away to 
the north, south and east, San Ignacio even now is an Im-^ 
portant pueblo. Three of these trails connect with the Gulf 
port of Santa Rosalia, twenty leagues to the northeast. 
This was my next objective. Accordingly, selecting the 
most favored of the three trails, I set forth early the third 
morning after my arrival at San Ignacio. Anxiety for home 
news and the recollection of a promise given the proprietor 
of the mines at Los Flores, relative to the delivery of a 
certain letter to his factor at Santa Rosalia, urged me for- 
ward; otherwise, I would have rested longer, for my cara- 
van still suffered from the effects of our experience on the 
Plains of Ojo Llebre. 



172 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

In fact, my old mozo Castro was so feeble and unfit for 
travel that I left him in the care of his friends at San 
Ignacio. His parting message was a prayerful request that 
if death came, "would the patron take the compass and fix 
the direction for my soul to reach Paradise?" Once on the 
road my poor Coronado, unable to continue his former 
vigorous gait, was compelled to see his place and leader's 
bell given to the younger and more recuperative Cabrillo. 
It was affecting to observe the evident humiliation with 
which the plucky burro accepted the change. Such were 
some of the effects of our struggle against thirst, an ever 
impending danger for those who wander in the fastnesses 
of Lower California. Now, however, we were to see the 
more settled portions of the Peninsula. 



CHAPTER XIV 

SANTA ROSALIA, A FRENCH MUNICIPALITY IN MEXICO 

ALTHOUGH in Washington and San Francisco I had 
frequently heard mention of La Paz as the largest 
settlement on the California Peninsula, concerning 
Santa Rosalia I had found no data in the United States 
beyond the bare statement of some financial and shipping 
men that it was a small port on the Gulf of California 
where a wealthy French syndicate was quietly engaged in 
extensive copper mining. As I proceeded down the Penin- 
sula, I began, to my surprise, however, to hear Santa 
Rosalia referred to as a French city and the largest munici- 
pality in Lower California. I left San Ignacio, therefore, 
filled with expectations. 

For two days we traveled northeasterly, passing through 
lofty volcanic sierras and wearing around to the right of 
three massive peaks, the Three Virgins, two of which shyly 
hid themselves behind their sister. These peaks approach 
seven thousand feet in height and even in modern times have 
rumbled with volcanic life. During a portion of this journey 
we rode along a broad and ancient highway, bordered with 
stones and dating Into prehistoric times. Late in the after- 
noon of the second day we entered a long valley In which 
we found habitations and small plots of garden land. 
Finally we came upon quite a settlement called Sant' 
Agueda and first developed In the days of the Padres. 
Here and there were palms and orange trees, a watercourse 
and a number of frame houses, at the farthest of which we 

173 



174 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

stopped for the night. Our host and hostess were a French 
couple, Monsieur and Madame Rosand. From them I 
gathered that the residents of Sant' Agueda were engaged 
in raising "garden truck," which they marketed at Santa 
Rosalia, two leagues distant. Madame Rosand was an 
industrious little woman of twenty-eight, possessed of such 
a wealth of maternal love that she generously cared for a 
small orphan in addition to her own sturdy brood of six. 
Remembering her good deeds I bow to Madame Rosand, 
a brave little woman, and such a culinary artist ! So pleased 
was I with this kindly couple that I arranged to leave Jesus 
with them while I pushed on to the Gulf. 

I was In the saddle early the morning after my arrival 
at Sant' Agueda. The trail immediately broadened out into 
an excellent road, marked by a line of telephone poles. Soon 
I passed a succession of gaping mining shafts and then ar- 
rived at a small railroad station protected by a series of 
frame residence barracks. This was El Provldencia, one 
of the three great copper mines of the Santa Rosalia group. 
Between San Ignacio and Sant' Agueda I had seen thickets 
which, though they were composed of small varieties of 
trees such as the palo bianco, were more extenslv^e and nu- 
merous than any I had observed since leaving the region of 
thick mesqult near the 29th parallel, north latitude. Now, 
however, I had arrived In an absolutely barren country, 
devoid of any trees or shrubs. 

The station rests In a narrow arroyo which gradually 
widened out as I rode forward. Twenty minutes burro 
travel brought me past a long shed — a public laundry, evi- 
dently, judging from the washtubs and hydrants under Its 
shelter — into a town with side-walks, well-kept streets, 
frame houses and "Rurales" or mounted police. This was 
Santa Rosalia, the most modern and largest town in Lower 
California. At the foot of the street before me I could see 




o 



CO 



A FRENCH MUNICIPALITY IN MEXICO 175 

a harbor and many ships ; on the bluffs to the right and left 
of the town there were residences, while high above those at 
the left rose the mighty smoke-stacks of the smelter. After 
the rare interest of quaint San Ignacio my first impression 
of this new, mathematically laid out town was far from 
agreeable. The salt air from the harbor, however, was wel- 
come. Eyeing my surroundings with curiosity and surprise 
I rode slowly down the main street, guided by the first ur- 
chin I observed, and crossing a plaza dismounted before the 
Correo, which I found just beyond. 

Here I submitted identifying credentials to the Post- 
master and asked for mail. The official carefully examined 
my documents, then smiling in a friendly manner delivered 
to me a packet of letters. These contained my first home 
news in over three months ! With nervous fingers I opened 
the letter with the oldest postmark, then the one with the 
most recent. They contained no bad news. The official 
seemed to read the evident relief in my face for he smiled 
again and offered to conduct me to the neighboring office 
of the principal Mexican shipping merchant, Senor Rudolfo 
Garyzar, for whom I had made inquiry, as he was the 
factor of my mining friend at Los Flores. 

Seiior Garyzar proved to be a middle-aged Spanish- 
Mexican gentleman. Though he spoke little English he 
had full command of the pure Castillan. After accepting 
the letter which I delivered to him and thanking me cour- 
teously, he introduced me to the Mayor of Santa Rosalia, 
one Senor Bouchet. After greeting me in English, this gen- 
tleman proceeded to read, with every care, the credentials 
which I presented to him. Meantime I noted his appear- 
ance. Like Senor Garyzar he was dressed in clothes of 
American cut. I quickly decided that he was medium in 
every respect: age, height, weight, even nationality, for his 
dark pointed beard was more French than Mexican. Later, 



176 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

I found that he was part French — and all courtesy and hos- 
pitality. His reading concluded, the Mayor invited me to 
his place of business, a general store facing the plaza. 
Office and sales-room opened upon the street, while at the 
rear there were store-rooms and a kitchen. After directing 
me to deposit my saddle-bags in the office, Senor Bouchet led 
the way up a flight of stairs to a suite of rooms where he 
resided. Later I found that all of the merchants lived thus 
in touch with their stores. As soon as he had apologized 
for appearances, explaining that his family was absent on 
a visit to Los Angeles, the Sefior placed one of his rooms 
at my disposal. The extent of his hospitality dawning upon 
me, I protested that there was a hotel on the plaza and that 
I could not impose on his good nature. Protestations, how- 
ever, were waved aside and I became a guest, a particularly 
agreeable position, as my host proved to be widely informed 
and a well read gentleman, at home in the English, French, 
German and Spanish languages. 

After luncheon I enjoyed a short visit with the two 
Italian priests who were in charge of the parish and then 
passing through a gateway in a large enclosure, ascended a 
broad highway leading to the French quarters on the north- 
ern bluff, immediately overlooking the lower town. Anxious 
to obtain data for historic work, I directed my steps toward 
the office building of El Boleo, the French copper mining 
company, and sent In my card. After a short delay I was 
ushered through a hall-way and a succession of rooms into 
an inner office, where the clerk left me in the presence of a 
keen eyed French official, whom I soon found to be a pol- 
ished and educated gentleman, well qualified to relieve a 
stranger of embarassment. The purpose of my call briefly 
explained, I retired from the offices of the notedly uncom- 
municative officials of El Boleo, with an assurance that my 
request would be given consideration. Twenty-four hours 



A FRENCH MUNICIPALITY IN MEXICO 177 

later there was delivered to me a concise report In crisp 
English, setting forth all the data which I desired. 

On my return to the lower town I met on the plaza an 
American, a traveling dentist, who seemed nearly as glad 
to meet me as I was to see him. He explained that al- 
though there were a few Germans, a couple of hundred 
French and seven thousand Mexicans, Japanese and Yaquls 
in Santa Rosalia, we were the only Anglo-Saxons. In the 
usual unusual happening of coincidences It developed that 
my countryman and I had been born In adjoining counties. 
I entered his office, which of course faced the plaza — In 
Mexico everybody seeks the plaza — and we were soon deep 
in the novel exercise of speaking English. Presently we 
heard childish voices In the adjoining yard singing In chorus, 

"Cuan- do sa- li de la Ha-ha-na val-ga me Dios! 
"Na-die me ha vis-to sa-lir si no fui yo 
^'Yu-na lin-da Giiachi-nanga sa-lla voy yo 
^'Que se vino tras de mi que si se-nor 
"Si a tu ven-ta-na lle-ga u-na Pa-lo-ma." 

Through the open doorway I could see the singers, a group 
of small girls, hands clasped and moving from right to left 
In time with the music. My companion's face had clouded, 
and abruptly excusing himself, he rushed out and quieted 
the children. 

''What's up?" I inquired on his return, "the youngsters 
were merely singing "L« Paloma" (The Dove), which, by 
the way, I've heard the muchachitas singing all the way 
down from our Border. The air and soft syllables are de- 
cidedly pretty." 

"I can't abide that song," replied the dentist, testily. 
Recalling the pathos of the verses and that many Americans 
In Mexico have painful home memories, I jumped at my 
own conclusions and was silent. "Come," exclaimed my 
companion, changing the subject, "let's find the good mayor 



178 CAMP AND CAMIXO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

and indulge in a chat over there on the hotel veranda." 

Again crossing the plaza, we found Sefior Bouchet and 
were soon seated around a small table before the hotel. A 
passerby, the captain of a German vessel at anchor in the 
harbor, made a fourth to our part)'. Glasses were promptly 
filled. 

"Herr Cap," I remarked, "you have sailed these waters 
for years, what do you think of Mexico?" 

"Mexico! Ah, the Senoritas are sehr schon — but always 
chaperoned, always, always." He shook his grizzled head 
mournfully and then inquired of me : 

"How do you get on with the lingua?" 

I hesitated a moment. "Do you recall as a child hop- 
ping from stone to stone in crossing a stream — " "Ja, ja," 
he interrupted, chuckling reminiscently. "Well, that's the 
way I hahla Espagnol. Of nouns, adjectives, swear-w^rds 
and adverbs I have a liberal supply, but as for the verb — 
Well, I hop over verbs. When I slip among them there's 
the deuce of a splash and I flounder shamefully." 

The dentist nodded encouragingly. "Don't be disheart- 
ened, said he, "remember that even though your Spanish 
grammar be weak you have always your hands and shoul- 
ders. Which reminds me. The other day I heard a Mexi- 
can, in complimenting an American amigo's Spanish, say, 
*Why, he could habia though his hands were tied.' " 

"Where is the flavor of a conversation devoid of shrugs 
and gesticulations?" queried Sefior Bouchet, In quick re- 
joinder. Then, leaving the subject Instantly, for the rest of 
us were smiling appreciation of the yarn, he continued, with 
eyes twinkling merrily, "I, too, have a little story. Last 
week I saw an American tabulating English equivalents for 
Mexican words. Consider my feelings when I observed 
that he had our now set opposite your tomorrow and our 
tomorrow made an equivalent of your never." 



A FRENCH AlUNICIPALITY IN MEXICO 179 

This sally was thoroughly appreciated, for every man of 
us had suffered from Mexican procrastination. On regular 
polyglot tongues conversation sped forward. 

The ensuing day I boarded a steamer for Guaymas. 
After spending nearly a fortnight in Sonora, I was again in 
Santa Rosalia, however, once more the guest of the hospit- 
able Mayor. For four interesting days I remained under 
his roof. In odd moments he would pore over my books 
on ancient California history, pointing out in return modern 
characteristics of his people. In common with all in touch 
with Mexican affairs he was an ardent admirer of President 
Diaz. 

"The General has given stability to our finances," the 
Seiior remarked one day, "he has invited capital to develop 
our resources, he has enforced our laws. The next step, 
and the one toward which every patriotic Mexican must 
do his part, is to teach thrift to our lower classes. Have 
you noticed these small packages the people throng this 
store to buy?" 

I nodded affirmatively. 

"Well, those are one cent packages of beans, panoche, 
coffee, cheese, etc. On pay-day these people splurge; at 
other times they purchase necessaries in minimum lots, 
which, while giving the merchant a substantial retail profit, 
is a heavy drain on the purchaser. Such a habit merely 
typifies the lack of thrift which I deplore." 

Through the days Santa Rosalia was supremely quiet, 
undisturbed save by the occasional entry of some pack train 
from the interior. Twilight, however, released the men 
from labor and brought forth bevies of feminine shoppers. 
Until ten o'clock the streets were thronged and in the store 
my host and his clerks were rushed with work. 

The Senor introduced me to one of his customers, the 
daughter of his friend, Seiior Garyzar. An extremely 



i8o CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

pretty seiiorita and a charming member of the Mexican 
Primera Clase, or high social class, she spoke English 
fluently. Though we found much in common to discuss, 
she was promptly whisked away by her inexorable duenna 
the instant shopping was concluded. Later I met her two 

particular friends, one of whom, Sefiorlta Cuca P , 

spoke English, French and German in addition to Castilian, 
quite essential accomplishments, according to the teasing 
Mayor, because of her American, English, French, German 
and Spanish admirers. Furthermore, she was a fearless 
horsewoman; and in Lower California, at least, Mexican 
girls rarely share their brothers' expertness in the saddle. 

One day, while enjoying a stroll on the southern bluff 
where the officers of the Port and other Federal officials 
resided, I met two young sefioritas as attractive as the trio 
whose acquaintance I had made through Sefior Bouchet. As 
my dentist friend who was with me had been formally pre- 
sented to the young Mexicans, he introduced me to them 
in due form. The younger, a fair girl with the blue eyes 
of Old Spain, was the sister of an official with a roving 
commission. She had just arrived with him at Santa Ro- 
salia. 

"I am bad company, Senor," said she, "I am feeling 
triste. I miss beautiful Guadalajara and the dear City of 
Mexico. You, too, have lately arrived; and by way of San 
Ignacio, as I understand. That is a pretty place, is it not?" 

"Si, Senorita," I replied, "at San Ignacio there are green 
palms, beautiful gardens, a stream of water, an old mission 
and an atmosphere of the medieval." 

The girl sighed. "Ah me, how I wish I were In San 
Ignacio." She glanced at me, wistfully. "What is there 
here? Tell me, American, what can you, a stranger, see 
before us?" 

She waved a hand gracefully toward the town. I an- 



A FRENCH MUNICIPALITY IN MEXICO l8l 

swered slowly, "I see a deep sea harbor, protected by a 
stone jetty out on which a train is carrying carloads of 
broken stone. The Customs buildings are near the water 
and from them wharves jut out into the harbor. An arroyo 
debouches at the water's edge, immediately below us, form- 
ing the town site. The width of this arroyo may be three 
hundred metres; at the upper end of the town It Is even 
more narrow. I see a plaza, faced by an hotel, a school 
building, a most creditable structure, and several stores." 

As I paused In my cataloguing, the girl exclaimed. Impul- 
sively, "Oh, you are as precise as my brother. Let me con- 
clude: The whole lower town Is mathematical — and, there- 
fore, horrid. Those fussy French engineers laid it out, 
doubtless, with a metre rule and a surveyor's chain. The 
school house Is the only painted building below us. There 
is a complete system of electric lighting — and no balconies, 
anywhere. There is a theater where at times plays are 
given, tiresome ones. Annually there Is a delightful ball — 
dressy, en masque and well arranged by the French officials, 
who, for the evening, are charming." 

She paused, breathless, and I ventured, "In Its appear- 
ance the town does rather resemble a combination of a de- 
serted Arizona mining camp and a frontier military post. 
Cold, barrack-like " 

"Yes, a thousand times yes. And unhomelike — un-MexI- 
can. No shaded promenades, no historic mission cathedral, 
not even a patio with Its garden retirement. The engineers 
have banked the arroyo and not planted a single palm. Yet 
the French are supposed to be creators of the beautiful 
only; their Paris Is almost as delightful as Madrid. Oh, 
how I wish I were back in Guadalajara !" She turned away 
quickly, her voice breaking. 

Accepting our dismissal, my companion and I sauntered 
on down toward the lower town. "Poor children ! It must 



1 82 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

be frightfully dull here for them," he remarked, sympa- 
thetically. "What is there to know concerning Santa Ro- 
salia, past or otherwise?" he inquired, suddenly, changing 
the subject. 

I shrugged my shoulders. "No traditions, a brief his- 
tory, a busy present and doubtless a big future." Nor could 
I sum up the situation more accurately now. Thirty years 
ago there was a rancho and some slight surface mining done 
at Santa Rosalia. A German company was in control. A 
decade later a powerful French syndicate bought out the 
Germans. Favored by liberal governmental concessions, 
the syndicate made substantial Improvements, enlarged 
their holdings to a million and a half acres, made a superb 
harbor and their copper mines are now credited as being 
among the world's greatest producers. But these facts are 
not advertised to the public. The office of the syndicate Is 
In Paris. 

The following morning, the second after my return from 
Guaymas, I accompanied my host to a session of the Mu- 
nicipal Court, which convened dally In a small frame struc- 
ture situated on the high bluff at the north of the lower 
town. The proceedings proved decidedly Interesting. One 
by one the offenders of the preceding twenty-four hours were 
ushered In by the Assistant Chief of Police, a good looking, 
athletic chap, In white sweater, belted trousers, tan shoes 
and the regulation peaked white straw sombrero of the 
southern Rurales. Standing at attention, this official would 
salute the Mayor, then twirl his cane and twist his mus- 
tachlos while his chief, a middle aged Mexican of serious 
mien and white linen garb, would state the particulars of 
the offense. The well-groomed Mayor, seated behind a 
desk, would peer through his gold rimmed glasses at the 
prisoner and Inquire why he had broken the laws. The 
accused, for the most part, were ragged and extremely dark 



A FRENCH MUNICIPALITY IN MEXICO 183 

of complexion; they would enter noiselessly, shod, as they 
were, with guarachas or teguas, and in soft, persuasive 
voices reply to the questionings, each making his own de- 
fense. No oaths were administered. The usual sentence, 
the offenses being misdemeanors, was two dollars or two 
days. Sentences were accepted in a most extraordinary 
manner. Thus, in one case, the complaining witness paid 
the fine; in another, a widow, fined a dollar for failing to 
send her eight-year-old to school, found herself released 
from prison, the Court advancing the peso; in a third in- 
stance, a father, whose son had been imprisoned, entered 
the room, openly thanking the Mayor for the sentence im- 
posed. Indeed, not even the magistrate of a Juvenile Court 
could have shown a greater paternal interest In his charges 
than did this big-hearted Seiior with his child-like 
people. 

Later I learned that His Honor was not only a Solomon 
but a veritable Haroun Al Raschid as well; for that even- 
ing I found him wandering about the town, accompanied 
by the Assistant Chief, looking after the peace of the com- 
munity and conversing with all possible malefactors. This 
was his nightly habit. He kept in close touch, moreover, 
with his fourteen Rurales, the mounted police apportioned 
to Santa Rosalia. Small wonder that even the cosmopolitan 
population of the mining community. Including in its num- 
bers many Yaquis, the fiercest, save the Seri, of the Indian 
tribes of Mexico, was kept within bounds. 

This Assistant Chief of Police was a most obliging man. 
The day after my return from Guaymas I engaged through 
his assistance an old Mexican to assist Jesus In camp work. 
He gave his name as Praemundl Marron and stated that, 
as he had once resided In San Jose del Cabo, he would be 
ready to start southward with me within twenty-four hours. 

But a new tangle had arisen, the solution of which put 



184 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

the time of my departure more than twenty-four hours into 
the future. 

On entering Lower California the question of how to 
carry funds on the long journey before me had been a 
puzzler. A bag of cash and currency seemed dangerous. 
Indeed, so recent has been the passing of the Mexican ban- 
dit that his reputation still shadows the camino, and it is 
difficult for an American to realize that, thanks to the ever 
ready Rurales, the traveler is as safe from molestation on 
the highways of Mexico, save in certain remote or Border 
sections, as he would be in the United States. Finally, I 
decided upon drafts and checks of small denominations as 
the safest financial supply. Doubtless, considering that I 
was alone with natives the greater part of the time, this 
was the best solution of the problem. Now, however, I 
learned that for the first five hundred miles before me I 
would require more change than I had on hand and would 
pass through no place where checks could be cashed. In- 
deed, there was no bank even in Santa Rosalia with its 
considerable population. Moreover, my drafts were used 
up and I did not care to presume so far on the hospitality 
of the merchants whom I had met as to ask them to cash 
a check for the amount I desired. In this dilemma I wired 
for money. After four days of exasperating delays I re- 
ceived this satisfying message from the obliging operator 
of the wireless office : 

"Operator on other coast say he have two messages for 
some one, but his bread in oven — wife she away — and might 
burn if he leave it long. After lunch he transmit message." 

Surely, in Mexico even the electric service has become 
impregnated with the spirit of manana, of poco tiempo, and 
its ahora is translated "tomorrow" and Its manana "never." 



A FRENCH MUNICIPALITY IN MEXICO 185 

Thanking the kindly local operator, I strode out of the 
office, boiling with indignation. My vexation passed away, 
however, as soon as I repeated the message to my com- 
patriot, the dentist. 

"Now wouldn't that jar you!" he exclaimed. "One must 
become accustomed to such things, here, however," he 
added, grimly. "You can't measure by home standards. 
For Instance, the commercial and mining laws of Mexico 
are far ahead of ours; their criminal laws have a certainty 
of enforcement unknown in the States; the courtesy of the 
men is delightful, the natural modesty of the women re- 
markable: these are items on the credit side. Range on 
the debit side lack of thrift, procrastination, such puerile 

methods of business as just experienced by you . But 

come to my office. You are anxious to journey southward. 
I have seventy-five pesos, if they will suffice you." 

And thus, through the kindly confidence of my fellow- 
countryman, I was enabled to start forth without further 
delay. That evening, therefore, I despatched Praemundl 
to Sant' Agueda. The ensuing morning I bade good-bye 
to Santa Rosalia. As It was Good Friday and all places 
of business were closed, Seiior Bouchet accompanied me to 
El Provldencia, where a fair was being held. We had seen 
Its beginning the evening of the previous day — Holy 
Thursday — when a group of fantastically garbed Yaqui 
Indians, led by a masked musician decked out as a Chief 
Devil, had entered Santa Rosalia, disporting themselves 
hilariously. At the same time numerous vendors of pre- 
served cacti fruit — some of It not half bad — and of sweet 
cookies had sprung up most unexpectedly. We now found 
several groups of these masked Yaquls dancing frantically 
In and out the gaily decked booths of the El Provldencia 
fair. Their movements were timed to strains of wild 
music. They were muscular men of stocky build and some 



1 86 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

of their contortions were little short of fiendish. All the 
Lower California Yaquis are importations from Sonora, 
where they are continually on the warpath. In Lower 
California they develop into excellent miners. 

Crowds of Mexican children were gathered about the 
booths, while a number of well dressed and distinguished 
appearing Frenchmen, mounted on horseback, were watch- 
ing the performances of the Indians. The eagle-eyed 
Rurales were also in evidence, riding quietly in and out of 
the crowd. As I was anxious to return to my outfit, I soon 
bade the kindly Mayor good-bye and walked the two 
leagues to Sant' Agueda, where I found my Mexican boy 
and Praemundi awaiting me. 

Though my burros were improved by their long rest, I 
found it necessary to purchase an additional one, and was 
thereby detained thirty-six hours. The time passed most 
delightfully, however, for Sant' Agueda is not only the 
garden of Santa Rosalia but the playground of the French 
officials of El Boleo. A gay party of these mercurial 
Frenchmen soon swooped down upon the Rosands, reining 
up their steeds at the very threshold of the house. There 
were over a dozen in the party, young and middle aged, 
including the wives of two of the older men. Madame 
Rosand immediately began the preparation of a sumptuous 
dinner to which I was invited. 

Two of the party were on the eve of departure for 
France; one, a mere boy, was to enter the army; the other, 
after fourteen years' service with El Boleo, was about to 
retire, and, in company with his wife, enjoy a prolonged 
hunting expedition in Algiers; he examined my carbine with 
great Interest, questioned me concerning calibers, and fairly 
bubbled over with enthusiasm over the lions he expected to 
shoot and the boars he would spear. 

At seven in the evening we sat down to a long, rough 




o 

CO 









A FRENCH MUNICIPALITY IN MEXICO 187 

board table, placed under an arbor in the open air. At one 
the following morning I escaped to my blankets, though my 
companions were still enjoying themselves. A better spir- 
ited company could not be imagined. The repast was 
delightful and all were hungry, for few of them were good 
horsemen and their ride had given the men effective appe- 
tite. There was an abundance of red wine. We drank the 
healths of the ladies; we drank that of the men who were 
about to depart. I was toasted, and on my proposing, 
"The Three Republics: France, Mexico and the United 
States: May they always progress in harmony," my hosts, 
not to be outdone, rose cheering, and sang in French and 
English the opening verse of "The Star Spangled Banner." 
At my right hand sat a M. Cailliatte, who kindly translated 
for me ; at my left a musical chap from the south of France. 
All the party possessed good voices and their universal 
courtesy was charming. At my request my left hand neigh- 
bor scribbled down a verse from a little chanson of southern 
France, which he sang to every one's delight, though he 
persisted in explaining that it was a mere recollection from 
his boyhood days near the Pyrenees. Here it is : 

''Et celui qui le fait 

"II' est de son village 

"O madame voila de hon frontage 

"Foila du bon frontage au lait 

"II' est du pays de celui qui la fait." 

Saturday morning we had breakfast together, after which 
the Frenchmen hunted doves and rabbits, while I searched 
for a burro. As we were assembling at luncheon, a new 
Frenchman rode up for a brief visit. One of the physicians 
of the Company, he was deeply interested in a new serum, 
calculated to overcome the rattle-snake's venom. Luncheon 
concluded, the majority of those assembled departed, many 



1 88 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

of them, to the great dissatisfaction of their steeds, riding 
double. 

Later I enjoyed supper with those who remained, and 
then, mounting my riding burro, rode out into the starlight 
at the head of my small cavalcade, southward bound along 
El Camino Real for the distant pueblo of Loreto, the an- 
cient capital of the Californias. Turning in my saddle, I 
saw the flickering candles on the rough table and heard 
the kindly French voices calling after me, "Bon voyage, 
Monsieur. Bon voyage." 



CHAPTER XV 

TO LORETOl 

FROM Santa Rosalia, via the Purisima camino, Loreto 
lies distant sixty-seven leagues, or slightly over two 
hundred miles. The natives, however, reckon this 
distance at one hundred leagues, attaining their figures by 
adding the hours consumed in journeying between the Inter- 
mediary places and allowing two leagues to the hour of 
mule travel. But over the rocky sierra caminos of Lower 
California even four miles per hour Is a high average gait 
for a mule train. Traveling with burros I made the dis- 
tance, and several leagues extra, in fifteen days. Had I 
the time and opportunity I would gladly spend fifty days 
in going over the same ground! 

Two months earlier I had revelled In the poppies and 
the other California wild flowers of La Frontera. Now, 
day by day, a riotous wealth of deep colors burst forth from 
the myriad varieties of cacti, glorifying the flower petals 
of the swelling buds, while the sober mesquit and verdant 
palo verde suddenly decked themselves In golden hues. Of 
soft pink, yellow, deep red or still deeper green, a hundred 
chalices caught the eye, whenever I looked aside from the 
camino, until my heart softened even toward the vicious 
cholla which constantly opposes the traveler with its 
needles and strews Its bristling sections In his way. With 
its rosaries of lovely blossoms, even this hated cactus could 
momentarily banish memory of its evil fame and exact 
homage from the vision. 

189 



I90 CAMP AND CAAIINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

In the thirsty wastes between Santa Gertrudls, Oje Llebre 
and San Ignacio there had been a dearth of birds, but as 
we rode southward toward Loreto, gallant cock quails 
called out challengingly, and from the occasional thickets 
beautiful red cardinals piped forth with gentle tenderness, 
"Sweet, sweet — ah, dear, dear; sweet, sweet — ah, dear, 
dear," a tender refrain most unexpected in the wilderness. 
Nightingales, too, sang bravely, while doves flaunted forth 
their amorous notes, forgetting for the time their weird 
call. Morning after morning, out from the fading gray 
of the earliest light, the mountains would assume form, bold 
and dark against the clear sky, their outlines hewn and 
carved in stern sculptury. Then, stirring the trembling 
silence of the blushing morn with tuneful melody, doves, 
quail and cardinals would burst forth in triumphant chorus 
hailing the majestic and ever-wondrous coming of the day. 
As the east reddened and the chorus grew in fervor, a 
gentle breath of air would sweep across the land, a mellow 
radiance soften the rugged western heights and, welcomed 
by his songsters, the God of Day would spring forth in the 
east. 

Surely, though in an age when the world itself was young, 
the noble lines of the Vedic Hymn to the Dawn must have 
been composed amid such surroundings as these. 

" * * * Thou art the breath and life 
Of all that breathes and lives, awaking day by day 
Myriads of prostrate sleepers, as from death. 
Causing the birds to flutter from their nests, 
And rousing men to ply with busy feet 
Their daily duties and appropriate tasks." 

The doves were unlike those to be seen in the State of 
California. Like the cardinals, I had first observed them in 
the rugged Waist of the Peninsula, opposite Tiburon Is- 



TO LORETO 191 

land. There, late one afternoon, as I traveled down a 
wild gorge, an eerie call of three notes unexpectedly rang 
out with nerve-rending sharpness. Dismounting instantly, 
carbine in hand, I had peered anxiously ahead, and upon spy- 
ing the offender, had called upon Jesus to bring it down 
with the small rifle. The poor bird had a bronzed head 
and back, long dark bill, blue eyelids and dark splash below 
the eyes, a white line across the wings and beneath the tail, 
and bright red legs. Except for the distinguishing white 
line, the doves along the way southward showed more sub- 
dued markings than this first specimen. 

From Sant' Agueda to Loreto we passed three towns and 
a few ranchos. Throughout this two hundred miles of 
travel we met on the camino but three wayfarers! Of 
wild creatures we saw mountain sheep, coyotes, foxes, wild 
cats, ducks, quail and doves. Rattlesnakes were frequent. 
Those California roadside habitues, the jack rabbits, were 
daily to be seen ambling sociably about or considering us 
with long ears pointed questioningly forward. Within 
two leagues out from Sant' Agueda we were advised we 
were deep in the Land of the Padres by the sight of a large 
wayside cross made by placing boulders upon the ground in 
the conventional design. This may have been a first notice 
arranged in olden times to call the traveler's attention to 
his approach to sacred Loreto. Thereafter, ancient cami- 
nos, broken aqueducts, neglected cisterns, chapel ruins and 
enduring stone missions, attesting the tremendous energy 
of the Jesuits, advised us of our proximity to the earliest 
center of the missionary field in the Californlas. 

After our departure from Sant' Agueda I had a glimpse 
of a survival of the religious fervor which animated the 
past generations. Late Easter night we had spread our 
blankets on the edge of a stony arroyo by the site of the 
ancient Jesuit mission chapel of Santa Maria de la Magda- 



192 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

lena. In the small hours of Monday morning I had seen 
several horsemen in the moonlight; later, as the sun was 
rising, I heard the crunch, crunch of many hoofs, and look- 
ing down the arroyo, saw a cavalcade drawing near, gor- 
geously garbed — men, women and children mounted on 
richly caparisoned horses and mules. They had been at- 
tending mid-day and evening Easter services at Mulege, 
some five and a half leagues distant, and in their anxiety to 
reach their distant ranchos had taken the camino long be- 
fore daylight. To be present at these services, they gladly 
rode from fifty to one hundred miles! 

I had had some difficulty in locating these ruins of Mag- 
dalena. From Sant' Agueda I had ridden direct to Santa 
Lucia, a diminutive settlement on the Gulf, and from there 
had followed the old Gulfo Camino down the coast a league 
and a half to San Bruno, another equally diminutive settle- 
ment, where symmetrical salt beds, a fine orchard of olive 
trees and a dignified white adobe, the residence of an Eng- 
lish hermit, were clustered in close proximity. Leaving 
San Bruno we bore away slightly west of south for over 
three leagues, picking a way through the cacti and brush or 
following a convenient arroyo until we came upon an 
ancient camino which brought us out at a spot where a large 
arroyo came forth from the sierras. Here the remains of 
a substantial and extraordinarily well constructed stone and 
masonry aqueduct — apparently run several miles for the 
purpose of Irrigating a very few acres — and heaps of grass 
grown ruins, marked the site of early missionary labors. 
In March, 1867, Professor Wm. M. Gabb, of the Ross 
Brown exploring party, evidently the only foreign visitors 
of modern times in this section, noted these ruins as the re- 
mains of the Jesuit Mission of Guadalupe. Had the 
scientist been a trifle more conversant with early Peninsula 
history or had he visited the neighboring rancho of Magda- 



TO LORETO 193 

lena, doubtless he would have avoided this error and placed 
Guadalupe Mission ten leagues to the west. 

This Rancho of San Jose de Magdalena proved to be a 
small and truly delightful oasis with a field of grain, a 
thicket of sugar-cane, towering palms, enormous fig trees 
and a pool of clear water. The proprietress was a firm 
old Senora who despotically ordered about a numerous 
family of blooming muchachas. So overrun was the place 
with these wholesome looking girls and so lacking was it in 
males that I caused the old dame to relax her severity by 
renaming her property the Rancho de las Muchachas. 
From this point we rode across the desolate plains of Mag-- 
dalena, once the site of some wildly visionary agricultural 
colony of American conception, into the hills. Coming 
down through a picturesque pass, we arrived at Mulege the 
afternoon of April the i6th. 

The Mission of Santa Rosalia de Mulege, founded by 
the Jesuits in the year 1705, attained during the eighteenth 
century considerable prosperity. Of late years the stone 
church has been extensively repaired and is now In excellent 
condition. It stands upon a slight eminence above the 
town. Only two foreigners appear to have noted their 
Impressions of Mulege. The first of these, Lieutenant 
Hardy of the British Navy, anchored In the offing while on 
a little pearl venture In 1828. Though he was delighted 
with the local port wine, he seemed to consider the village 
as a half deserted place in the grip of a shamefully profli- 
gate Friar. Thirty-nine years later. Professor Gabb, visit- 
ing Mulege, described It as "a straggling village of adobe 
houses with a population of, perhaps, two hundred per- 
sons." To his surprise he found a little coterie of accom- 
plished gentlemen in the village, who made his stay with 
them most agreeable. As I entered Mulege I could but 



194 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

wonder whether the intervening thirty-nine years since Pro- 
fessor Gabb's visit had brought about many changes. 

I quickly discov^ered that they had. 

In place of a profligate Friar as in the days of Hardy, I 
found a scholarly, ascetic young Italian priest, Padre Mar- 
seliano. His clear cut, refined features, his deep interest in 
his people, in literature and in photography, won me in- 
stantly. So extensive, so rugged and so desert is the field 
of his labors — reaching from the mining camp of Calama- 
juet on the north to the Mission of San Luis Gonzaga on 
the south — that I doubt whether any soldier of the Gospel 
has in hand a task of greater severity. In place of a strag- 
gling village of two hundred, I found Mulege to be a pros- 
perous town of full eight hundred inhabitants, with adobe 
houses, public buildings, narrow shaded streets, a tide-water 
stream, numerous Irrigating ditches, fertile fields and acres 
of vegetables, sugar-cane, trellised vines, and orange, lemon, 
olive, fig, pomegranate and palm trees. 

In the matter of the "agreeable coterie" of 1867, hap- 
pily I found the only change was that of new generations. 
After conversing with the Padre, I visited the District 
Court where I met a handsome and affable young official, 
the Federal Attorney for the district. Later, on the plaza 
I came across one Senor Elias Bareno, merchant and sur- 
veyor, who introduced me to his "pupil in English," Don 
Mauricio Mexia. Thanks to Don Mauricio, I enjoyed a 
most delightful afternoon drive, for the genial fellow gath- 
ered into his commodious three-seater no less than six 
Seriorltas of the Primera Clase and laughingly told me to 
squeeze in. To my pleased surprise one of the company 
was my recent acquaintance, Seiiorita Garyzar. She had 
come from Santa Rosalia on a Gulf steamer to spend Eas- 
ter with relatives. 

We drove along the stream for half a mile, then crossing 



TO LORETO 195 

over through water to the hubs, entered a beautiful, shaded 
driveway leading to a picturesque sugar plantation, where 
we were given a great sheaf of cane stalks. The whole 
region was an Eden-like bower of green and flowers, the 
property, I believe, of some member of the party. Here 
we alighted, and as we strolled about under the great palms 
and amid the flowers, the girls began singing soft Spanish 
songs, until I seemed to be enjoying some delightful 
dream. 

Foreigners have such a mistaken fashion of considering 
all Mexicans swarthy people that I cannot but note that 
there were only three brunettes in our little party: Don 
Mauricio and his baby daughter, who had joined us at the 
last moment, had the bluest of eyes, while his sister-in-law, 
a tall, statuesque beauty, was a decided blonde. Dark eyes 
were the exception. As we were roaming about the garden 
we came to a large vat where olives were pickling. The 
best lined the bottom. Desirous of obtaining these, each 
in turn, amid gay laughter, began reaching down into the 
brine. By rolling my right sleeve to the shoulder, I easily 
fished out a handful of fine black olives. As I passed the 
fruit, one of the girls, her gaze falling upon my bared arm, 
exclaimed in uncontrollable amazement, "Jesu Christi, dos 
color es!" 

Having assumed from my tanned face and forearms that 
I was a dark-skinned individual, the muchacha had been 
completely taken aback by the unexpected whiteness of my 
upper arm. Her confusion was at once increased for "Je- 
susa, you must apologize to the gentleman for your expres- 
sion," said pretty Senorita Garyzar, in a reproving aside in 
Spanish. "He will think you profane." 

"Profane! I?" exclaimed the girl, deeply shocked. 

"Certainly. In his country to use freely the expression 
'Jesus Christ' is to blaspheme." 



196 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

"Blaspheme ! Victoria, it cannot be so. It is but an ex- 
pression; it is my own name, even." 

"I know," persisted the American travelled Sefiorita, 
"but, although we use the term as a given name and as a 
harmless by-word, in the United States — " 

Here I hastened to the rescue of the embarrassed girl, 
but she was inconsolable, murmuring in blank distress, "I 
blaspheme — I could not so offend!" 

Leaving the plantation we drove down to the water's 
edge and found the shade of a large palm, where we stopped 
to enjoy the sweet pith of our sugar-cane. As they held 
the straight, slender, reed-like stalks to their carmine lips, 
the girls looked quite like a group of pretty flute players. 
We were all in high spirits, applauding roundly the many 
gallant remarks of Don Mauricio. "Ah," said he, finally, 
chucking his little daughter playfully under the chin, and 
preparing to cross the stream, "it's doubtless the eating of 
so much sugar-cane that endows our Mulege miichachas 
with such rare sweetness." As I was seriously announcing 
my firm belief that the lasses surely lived half the year on 
honey, a bright-eyed miss inquired how many daughters I 
had at home. Making prompt answer that I was a single 
man, I produced, with mock formallt}'^, a Mexican passport 
describing me as "«« soltero" (a bachelor), whereupon my 
inqulsitress asked whether any Americans married. "As- 
suredly," she concluded, amid concurring nods from her 
mates, "all that have ever come here have stoutly averred 
that they were bachelors." 

"I don't wonder," I replied, with an admiring glance at 
the pretty bevy. Certainly there might be compensations 
for being marooned at Mulege. 

From Mulege there are two camlnos to Purisima, one 
via the San Sebastian Arroyo, the other by way of Zapote 
and the Guadalupe Arroyo. As Professor Gabb had taken 




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TO LORETO 197 

the latter in 1867, I chose the San Sebastian camino. From 
my own observations the route a traveler does not select, 
he later decides was necessarily the better. Via the San 
Sebastian camino the distance is thirty-one leagues, the di- 
rection southwest. 

As I left Mulege early the morning of April the i8th, 
the world seemed in perfect peace, the mission bells were 
ringing and there was no sympathetic sign of the great 
natural disturbance that was bringing disaster upon the busy 
metropolis of the State of California. That afternoon 
Coronado began to fail. The following morning, before 
breakfast, I endeavored to secure a new burro, a vaquero 
having one for sale. As he declined to execute a bill of 
sale, the transaction fell through. (Later, I ascertained 
that the man had no title to the burro.) When the animals 
were saddled I had Coronado's pack transferred to my 
riding burro and I proceeded on foot; such relief proved of 
no avail, and a few hours later, as we made our way up- 
ward toward a four-thousand-foot pass in the sierras, the 
poor beast sank upon the camino, unable to arise, urge him 
as we would. Unsheathing my carbine, I regretfully 
sighted for his heart, but as my eyes rested on the sturdy 
brown shoulders, I remembered how bravely they had borne 
my possessions for a thousand miles, I remembered our 
common sufferings on the Llanos de Ojo Liehre — and put 
aside the gun. "Is there a chance of his recuperating?" I 
asked of Praemundi who stood by. 

"Perhaps. He had water this morning; there is feed 
here. Let him be, and by to-morrow he will be dead or up 
after feed and water." 

Sheathing the carbine, I approached my poor dumb ser- 
vant. "Adios, Coronado," said I, feelingly, patting his 
bulky head the while. "You have done your level best for 
me. Adios." The old fellow looked up with great weary 



198 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

eyes, whereat I turned away with a lump In my throat. 
"Vamunos" (Onward), I shouted out roughly to my mozos. 
Forward we proceeded. Soon Cortez began to stagger, so 
I had Jesus dismount. The strain of a thousand miles of 
travel and of thirst on the Llanos de Ojo Liebre was telling. 

On the 19th instant and the two days succeeding we pro- 
ceeded on foot, no unpleasant exercise had it not been that 
my teguas were so worn that sharp stones and cacti con- 
tinually wounded my feet. The third day of our walking 
we crossed over into the Purisima Arroyo and came to a 
rancho, then to another and another. In the afternoon we 
made camp on the banks of the Purisima Rio, a fine, clear 
stream, bordered by willows and sedge grass and running in 
a rock channel with precipitous walls rising close at either 
side and forming a magnificent gorge full a thousand feet 
in depth. Tired and footsore from over sixty miles of 
walking, I did not break camp for thirty-six hours, good, 
peaceful hours, in which I enjoyed four swims in a deep hole 
near by, let my blisters heal, philosophized with my old 
mozo, dipped into my two small volumes of Balzac and 
Kipling, and listened to the fascinating song of running 
waters, a song that carried me to scenes In the High Sierras 
of Upper California, then to my fevered hours on the 
Llanos de Ojo Liebre and. In prospect, to possible thirsty 
experiences to come on the deserts before me. 

Jesus, for his part, slipped joyously away on a visit to 
the beehive and orange trees of a neighboring rancho, while 
Praemundl spent the major portion of his time laundering, 
the pot-holes in the rock flooring of our camp serving ad- 
mirably for wash tubs. As he sat near me patiently await- 
ing the drying of the clothes, the old Mexican made an In- 
teresting study: A lean, wiry figure of sixty years or more, 
with long arms and bowed legs, with brown hands clasped 
and resting between his small knees, with dark eyes bent in 



TO LORETO 199 

somber study of the running water. A tawny straw hat, low- 
rounded of crown, with brim down in front and up behind, 
shaded his face, a kindly face, wrinkled, leather-colored, 
contrasting sharply with his white beard and iron gray mus- 
tache; a soft gray shirt, open at the throat, disclosing his 
brown neck and chest, the sleeves, rolled to the elbows, dis- 
played his red undershirt carefully folded back at the wrists ; 
a blue scarf, fringed at the ends and tied in the small of the 
back, belted in his faded gray trousers and held a long 
knife ready to his hand; worn sandals, loosely bound, pro- 
tected the soles of his small brown feet. Kindly, genial 
and willing, a respectful servant, half philosopher, half 
child, and wholly typical of an earlier Mexican generation, 
such was the paisano seated before me. To bathe in the 
stream was something that neither Praemundi or Jesus 
would consider. Did they not wash their hands before 
mixing tortillas? why risk a cold by Immersing their bodies? 

The 23rd instant we proceeded forward and shortly 
came to a rancho, where I secured a stout riding burro, which 
Jesus promptly named "Colon" (Columbus). This burro 
was an excellent animal. For him and a leather bound 
water-bottle I gave five pesos, cash, an order for Coronado, 
if found alive, and Cortez. Both parties to this bargain 
were well satisfied, for while Cortez had become a dead 
weight for me, after a month's rest he would serve the 
ranchero as well as Colon. Another league brought us to 
a second rancho where for fourteen pesos I purchased a 
second burro, named "Vapor" (Steamboat). 

In the acquisition of Vapor I experienced some delay. 
First it was necessary to heat an Iron, throw the animal and 
give him a mark, for he was unbranded; and after this 
operation was completed the vendor discovered that he 
must send a messenger to secure requisite revenue stamps 
for his bill of sale. In bargaining Mexicans are regular 



200 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

Yankees, and In dealing with them the traveler must examine 
his nutmegs and safeguard his purchases as closely as in 
Connecticut. During this delay the rancheros proceeded 
with their spirituous ambition of draining a generous num- 
ber of bottles of mescal. The leader of the party, a comic 
opera bandit In appearance — flashing black eyes, twirling 
mustachios, ornamented sombrero, brilliant plush small 
jacket, tasseled sash, long dagger, voluminous trousers and 
wide flapping red leggins bound below the knee with orna- 
mented cords — in the exuberance of his hilarity swallowed 
a copious draught that was horribly unlike mescal. Crying 
out that he had been deliberately poisoned, the comic opera 
individual drew his dagger and rushed toward the man 
nearest him, who sprang aside, drawing a revolver as he 
avoided the descending steel. In an Instant daggers were 
In the air and pandemonium turned loose. Six-shooter In 
hand, I was looking earnestly for a friendly tree, when the 
sufferer's better half appeared upon the scene in search of 
her kerosene bottle. It stood upon the table where her 
husband had placed It after his unsavory taste of Its con- 
tents. All thought of murderous Intent now removed from 
his mind, the Mexican embraced his wife, kissed a scream- 
ing baby, struck a heroic attitude and proclaimed that he 
would meet death like a man, while his friends crowded 
about me beseeching that I save his life. Although I 
promptly separated the tippler from the kerosene and some 
other things, almost Immediately afterwards I half re- 
gretted having done so, for every man Jack in the company, 
fascinated by the appearance of my medicine chest, at once 
complained of some ailment and begged for drugs. All 
that saved my pills and vials was the chorus of howls and 
sputtering that followed my quick doses of clear Jamaica 
ginger and the bitterest powdered quinine. 

As I rode away, finally possessed of the stamped bill of 



TO LORETO 201 

sale, my bibulous friends, embracing one another and 
rhythmically waving their sombreros, sang almost tearfully, 
"El Vapor," a Mexican farewell song. A short ride 
brought me to the central portion of Purisima, a small town 
which, counting the racheros up and down the stream, 
claims six hundred inhabitants. Purisima Rio, a succession 
of large water-holes, carries the largest body of any stream 
in Lower California, except the Hardy. It runs through a 
deep arroyo to the Boca de Purisima on the Pacific coast, a 
few leagues distant. In fertile spots along this stream 
sugar-cane, figs, grapes, etc., are grown extensively. The 
Mission of La Purisima de la Conception was established 
by the Jesuits in 171 8. The building is rather a small 
stone structure, situated near the Rio and in the center of 
the town. 

As I was possessed of a letter of introduction from Padre 
Marseliano to Don Jose Osuna, the principal resident of 
Purisima, my brief visit there was made exceedingly agree- 
able. Seiiorita Osuna, the Don's sweet faced and digni- 
fied daughter, showed me the mission, and her brother, 
Pablo, then explained to me the six steps In the making of 
mescal from the maguay plant. The ensuing day father 
and son made me their guest at a bounteous dinner, while my 
mozos were cared for at a second table. Both tables were 
spread in the Don's garden which, after the pleasant fash- 
ion of Mexico, occupied the patio around which the house 
was built. The Senorltas provided us with two frequent 
and most pleasing standard Baja California dishes, the one 
made by frying vegetables and pounded dried beef In but- 
ter, the other by frying In lard beans already boiled and 
crushed. In addition they served rich soup, steak, boiled 
potatoes, rice with wild honey, excellent tortillas, jellies and 
beaten egg dulce, or sweetmeat. To drink we had tea, cof- 
fee and wine. The Osuna family Is typical of the highest 



202 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

class of courteous, well Informed, dignified and hospitable 
native land owners of the Peninsula. 

Eight and a half leagues slightly south of east of Puri- 
sima lies Comondu. A rocky, broken mesa intervenes; 
after attaining an increased elevation of nigh three thou- 
sand feet the camino from Purislma enters this mesa, leav- 
ing behind the Impressive and majestic scenery of the Puri- 
sima Arroyo. Immediately after dinner we began this as- 
cent. At nightfall we camped by the wayside, as usual 
scraping aside the larger stones before throwing down our 
blankets. While we were eating supper a large tarantula, 
an unbidden and most unwelomce guest, came marching 
up to my plate. I yelled lustily and made a record jump, 
closely followed by Jesus. Praemundi, however, valiantly 
crushed the venomous creature with a stone; we had upset 
his tarantulaship's peace, of course, in scraping aside the 
stones. Reassembling, we discussed various snakes and 
insects of venomous nature, Praemundi describing native 
antidotes for practically all save what he called the "sole- 
cuate," a blunt tailed snake resembling In color the ordinary 
water variety, and the mala zorea, or small southern skunk. 
The bite of this latter creature — and in fear of it the travel- 
ling natives draw their serapas close about their faces at 
night — causes hydrophobia and death. Cheese and en- 
livening music were the remedies he suggested for the sting 
of the tarantula, certain varieties of which he considered 
fatal. After this cheerful discussion and before retiring to 
my blankets and bad dreams, I entered in my journal, after 
the style of the mighty Caesar, "All Baja California Is di- 
vided into three parts, of which one Is all barren sierras, 
parched deserts and thirst, another is Inhabited by snakes, 
scorpions, centipedes, tarantulas, salamankasers and mala 
zoreas, while the third is all palms, flowers, dates, oranges, 
sugar-cane, honey, running water and pretty muchachas. 



TO LORETO 203 

Trouble is, the boundaries on the parts are undefined." 
The following day, just before noon, we came upon a 
runaway couple. From snakes to romance! But El 
Camino Real is full of just such contrasts. The young 
people — they were eighteen and twenty-two — ^were rest- 
ing by the wayside when we came upon them. Their 
belongings, tucked in a sack, were swung across 
the swain's sturdy shoulders, a leather water-bottle and 
a pair of short, pointed shoes were tied to the girl's 
left arm. He was clad in tattered garments, she in a blue 
calico gown with red dots in the waist; an eminently be- 
coming yellow rebozo, or native headdress, completed her 
costume. Although she seemed unconscious of her lack of 
stays and hosiery, she was plainly distressed at being found 
wearing guarachas, for, as soon as I devoted my attention 
to her companion, she quickly slipped them off and forced 
her feet into the shoes. But though her feet were small, 
the shoes were yet smaller, and under their pressure her 
face became so wofully drawn with pain that I charitably 
assured her that guarachas were the preferable footgear 
for a rocky camino. This cheered her. The young people 
were rather attractive looking, the man's face showing less 
of the Indian than the girl's. After persistent questioning 
I gathered their story. They were on their way to San 
Jose del Cabo, where some of her people lived and where 
they would find a home. They were slipping away be- 
cause his parents had objected to the match. Yes, they 
know that the Cabo was far distant, but they had little to 
carry and were excellent walkers. His name was Ramon, 
hers Susana. With kindly memories of a certain Susan, I 
promptly gave Susana the use of my riding burro for ten 
miles. She was grateful and so was he. To think of two 
youngsters on a six-hundred-mile walk for their honeymoon 
trip entirely upset my gravity, and yet their frequent little 



^04 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

love glances and the underlying pathos of the situation ap- 
pealed to my heart, and I found myself respecting the wan- 
derers for being capable of so fervent a devotion. At 
luncheon we were a happy wayside party, Susana preparing 
the tortillas, good ones, too, though in her ignorance of 
baking powder she dumped in an alarming amount. I 
caught her picture as she patted a tortilla, and then found 
that she had no idea of the nature or purpose of a camera. 
When we were advised by the waning day of our near ap- 
proach to Comondu, Susana dismounted, and the last 
glimpse I had she was heroically working into the tight 
shoes required by her sense of the proprieties to be ob- 
served by a bride. 

Ten minutes later my caravan paused abruptly upon the 
brink of a deep chasm. Seven hundred feet below us lay a 
semi-tropical park, well-watered and verdant with olive, 
fig, palm, Cottonwood and orange trees. In width it might 
have measured two furlongs, the windings of the arroyo 
precluded any further estimate of its extent. Here and 
there thatch houses showed through the foliage, while in 
the midst of the arroyo a cluster of adobes stood forth like 
so many boulders tossed down by playful Titans. As I 
looked upon this superb vista, tropical with deep verdure, 
waving sugar-cane, trellised vines and tall palms, the sounds 
of lowing cattle, baaing sheep and soft-voiced Mexicans 
came floating gently upward, mellowed by the distance, and 
in an ecstasy of delight I wondered whether the Happy 
Valley of Rasselas could have had the charm of this beau- 
tiful Arroyo of Comondu. 

As a poet has sung, 

"There is no sun like the sun that shines 
In the Valley of Comondu, 
There are palms and olives and figs and vines 
In the Valley of Comondu." 



TO LORETO 205 

Hugging close to the winding camino we made the dizzy 
descent into the valley, where a letter which I possessed ad- 
mitted me to a substantial sky-blue adobe, the home of a 
kindly Don, who proved to be an exceedingly gracious and 
widely informed gentleman. With him I spent the night, 
receiving the most hospitable treatment, though through a 
remark made by Praemundi concerning my performances 
as a medico, I soon found myself in an amusing but em- 
barrassing position. In short, I was invited to aid in the 
arrival of an hourly expected addition to the population of 
Comondu ! 

The ensuing morning I continued my journey, following 
a shaded camino leading up the arroyo. About eight hun- 
dred — or eight hundred and one ! — people reside in the 
Arroyo of Comondu, which, in physical appearance, greatly 
resembles that of San Ignacio. So many of the men of 
Comondu have been drawn away to the mines at Santa Ro- 
sailia, and such is the good fame of its muchachas, that down 
the Peninsula the arroyo is frequently referred to as the 
"Adamless Eden of Comondu." Some eighteen hundred 
acres of fertile soil are under cultivation. There are two 
main settlements, a league apart, the upper being clustered 
around the old mission. This is a truly ancient establish- 
ment, having been founded nearly two centuries ago. Here 
is its story, as told by the chroniclers: In the year 1707, one 
Padre Julian de Mayorga came to California from Spain. 
Though he was a deep scholar, his health was so delicate 
that he appeared utterly unfit for the rigors of missionary 
life. However, after a year's rest at Loreto, he sallied 
forth with Padres Salvatierra and Ugarte. Sixteen — only 
they considered it many more — leagues of rough travel, 
westerly, brought the worthy Padres to a valley known 
among the Indians as "Comondu," or the Valley of Stones. 
From the high cliffs at either side of the arroyo and the 



2o6 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

thick sprinkling of stones carpeting the mesa to the north 
and south, I think the Indians showed great sense in choos- 
ing this name. A stream watered this valley and for sev- 
eral leagues there was much fertile soil. Here the Padres 
paused and founded the Mission of San Jose de Comondu. 
The well disposed natives assisted in the work, while funds, 
to the extent of ten thousand pesos, were supplied by the 
Marquis de Villapuente, the most liberal of the many con- 
tributors to the famed Pious Fund which supported the mis- 
sions for over a century. Just above the stream build- 
ings of stone were erected, fruit trees and vines planted — 
flowers already were growing in profusion — and the con- 
version of the natives and the making of caminos were aus- 
piciously begun. In these pleasing surroundings Padre 
Mayorga, regaining health, lived peacefully until death 
called twenty-eight years later. San Jose de Comondu 
long flourished. Crops were large and certain, much wine 
and brandy were made and live stock multiplied. The 
iglesia was richly furnished and had a library of over a 
hundred volumes. This is the sum of the historic data of 
the old chroniclers. 

The mission was built with the usual iglesia, ell and patio 
design. With inspiring majesty its massive stone walls and 
substantial pillars stand sentinel above the inroads of time, 
earthquakes and vandalism. Though vandals, seeking for 
building stone, have made a breach in one wall and growing 
trees have ripped open the stone and cement roof above the 
altar, the somber walls, four feet in thickness, retain their 
solidity. Unshaken, too, are the eight Grecian pillars, 
each a metre in diameter, placed four on either side of the 
main aisle of the iglesia and supporting the arched roof, the 
keystones of which are so cunningly set as to defy the cen- 
turies. Narrow windows and low doorways admit the 
light. Above the main entrance there is a choir loft. 




The walled-up doorway of the Mission of San Jose 
de Comondu 



TO LORETO 207 

reached by a narrow spiral stairway of thirty-three steps. 
The roof is vaulted and, in places, still resplendent with 
red frescoing. Above the eaves stone torches flame up- 
ward, and stone cylinders, perhaps for the drainage of rain- 
water from the roof, point outward like cannon. The altar 
has been destroyed; at its right and left there are small, 
dark rooms. In length the interior of the church measures 
forty-five paces, in width, sixteen; its height must approxi- 
mate ten metres. I obtained an excellent view of the in- 
terior by climbing to the crest of the wall behind the ruined 
altar and looking down through the wide rent made in the 
roof by growing trees ; from the outlook before me I might 
have been gazing into some ancient crypt. 

The wing, forming with the iglesia the ell, is in perfect 
state of preservation and its two rooms are utilized, the one 
as a chapel, the other as a storeroom. In the latter there 
are two large bells, one of which is sadly cracked; In view 
of Its Inscription of "San Francisco, 1697," ^^^ latter pre- 
sumably came from the Mission of San Francisco Xavler de 
Vigge. Another relic, of even greater Interest, Is a carved 
wooden saint, sans arms, sans feet. I found him thrust 
aside In a dusty corner where warlike "yellow-jackets" were 
engaged In building a mud house between his poor knees. 
Charmed by the sweet, pathetic expression of the upturned 
face, I carried the poor wooden child — St. Joseph of Ara- 
mathea, like as not — Into the sunshine of the April morn- 
ing and placed him gently beside the silent old bell. There 
are ten oil paintings and an onyx font In this chapel. 
' Within the ell there Is a pretty and well kept garden and 
two bells are swung from a low wooden frame. One of 
these bells bears the date of 1708. Back of the ell thus 
formed by iglesia and chapel, there is a well-watered gar- 
den with flowers and trees. This garden is forty paces 
square and enclosed by stone buildings and ruins. 



2o8 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

Though at Comondu, as at San Ignacio, quarries were 
convenient and labor at the wage of sustenance only, never- 
theless, even under such favorable conditions, the construc- 
tion of so imposing a mission must have required a far 
greater outlay than the ten thousand pesos mentioned by 
the chroniclers. Perhaps the generous Marquis de Villa- 
puente visited his Mission of Comondu, and, enchanted by 
its surroundings, increased his benefaction. It is of record 
that in 1735 he gave to the Pious Fund an estate of several 
hundred thousand acres in Tamaulipas, together with flocks 
and herds, farming implements and appurtenances. May 
the Grandee rest in peace, doubly blessed by his endowment 
to San Jose de Comondu! Also, may better days be in 
store for the Mission and the crippled little Saint. 

Out from Comondu as many as three different caminos 
lead over the famous Sierra Giganta, the local section of 
the Cordilleras, to Loreto. In constructing these caminos 
industrious persons — unquestionably Indians In missionary 
days, for the residents do not initiate such laborious tasks 
nowadays — removed the stones, burrowing down to earth, 
so that for the first league or more the traveler Is practi- 
cally below the surface of the mesa. Two of these caminos 
are In frequent use by pack trains travelling out from the 
prosperous arroyo laden with cargoes for shipment across 
the Sea of Cortez. I chose to travel by the third and least 
known route. This I did because of certain strange Infor- 
mation which I had received the evening after my arrival 
at Comondu. At that time my kindly host, looking up 
from an examination of game trophies, had exclaimed 
abruptly, "But, senor, how comes it that you have not killed 
an antelope of the sierras (un berrendo de los sierras)?" 

"Un berrendo de los sierras?" I repeated, inquiringly, 
with some unplaced memory struggling back of my brain. 

"Yes, senor. The berrendo de los sierras is not unlike 



TO LORETO 209 

the mountain sheep in habits, but he is thicker through the 
shoulders, his horns extend further outward. In color 
these animals are black." 

''Los hay negros" (they are black), that gave clue to my 
unplaced memory, and later that evening I turned to my 
notes from Clavijero. "La gamiiza . . . es mas grande," 
wrote the old Jesuit in his chapter on the native California 
animals, ''mas agil y mas veloz que la cabra. Los animales 
de esta especia se justan en manadas, y trepan en los rocas 
con incredible facilidad: los hay blancos y negros; su piel es 
apeciada y su came buena para comer." Translating 
gamuza Into antelope, the passage becomes, "The antelope 
is larger, more agile and swifter than the goat. This class 
of animals travel in flocks, and they leap among the rocks 
with marvelous ease: they are white and black; the hides 
are esteemed and the meat is good for eating." 

Who ever heard of an American antelope that was black? 
and on the other hand, who ever observed one at a distance 
without thinking of Its being white? Clavljero's white an- 
telopes must be the ordinary variety, his gamuzos negros 
must be my host's antelopes of the sierras; having come to 
this conclusion I went to sleep with the firm Intention of 
hunting the strange animal. 

Two days later, therefore, having In the meantime fol- 
lowed the little known route heretofore mentioned, I made 
camp In an eerie spot high up In the Sierra GIganta, where a 
goat-herd had erected a poor adobe and a corral In the 
shadow of frightful precipices, above which towered a 
threatening black picacho. Early the next morning I started 
forth with Manuel, the goat-herd's eighteen-year-old son. 
The climbing abilities of this untutored youth were so su- 
perb as to be worthy of notice. Striking a gait which was 
a jog, varied with goat-like leaps, he calmly attained the 
summit of that peak without so much as getting out of 



2IO CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

breath, though my aneroid showed its elevation to be 3,650 
feet above our sierra camp. For my own part I was nearly 
exhausted, though I had merely followed in his wake, while 
he, searching out the one break in the precipices where as- 
cent was possible, had sturdily hacked with his keen machete 
a passageway through the thickets of tunas, palo Adan, una 
de gato, garahatillo and other thorny shrubs that hindered 
our advance. According to Manuel, we were the first to 
take the trouble to ascend the picacho, though one of his 
goats had twice made the ascent, hobbled. 

When we were at an elevation of 4,000 feet above sea- 
level, Manuel suddenly pointing toward the east, exclaimed, 
"There, Seiior, dos berrendos de los sierras!" Looking in 
the direction indicated, I saw two dark animals, one far 
larger than any mountain sheep I had ever seen, with great 
head and immense ram's horns extending far outward and 
of extreme bulk about the shoulders. The smaller animal 
slipped into the brush before I had a good view of it. The 
ram was jumping leisurely along among some rocks not over 
two hundred yards away, but as I drew down upon him the 
rising sun glinted over the sights, obstructing my aim. In 
another instant the berrendo disappeared in the brush, and 
although we found his great tracks we had no further sight 
of the creature throughout the day. Manuel explained 
that usually these berrendos were less wild, not being hunted, 
and that they kept aloof from the borregos which also 
ranged on the picacho. 

Late that afternoon while tracking I became separated 
from Manuel, and, descending from the heights, reached 
camp, alone, at night. As I lay on a pile of hides, dress- 
ing a bad ankle and extracting thorns from my arms and 
shoulders, wondering the while whether two days' rest 
would fit me for another try at the berrendos, into camp 
rode a Mexican, the bearer of such news concerning San 




The carved wooden Saint of San Jose de Comondu 



TO LORETO 211 

Francisco, the home of those nearest to me, that breaking 
camp hastily the following morning I pressed onward with- 
out further search for game. 

To me, perturbed in mind, how endless that day seemed! 
Finally, after sixteen hours of rugged travel, we made camp, 
halting beneath a group of ancient palms hard by the sea. 
The faint light of a late moon picked out silver spots be- 
neath the boughs, it made shadow pictures of somber build- 
ings, it glistened on the rippling waters of the Sea of Cortez. 
A dog ceased baying the moon to challenge us entering the 
sleeping village. Completely exhausted, torn by haunting 
anxieties, I threw myself upon my blankets. After over 
a thousand miles of El Camino Real I had come to sacred 
Loreto, the Mother of Missions, the ancient Capital of the 
Californias, but my thoughts were far away in Alta Cali- 
fornia. 



CHAPTER XVI 

THE PEARL MISSIONS OF THE JESUITS 

UNDER a canopy of fluttering palms and spreading 
eighteenth century shade trees, her poor shoulders 
pressed close against the thorny thickets of a 
treacherous arroyo, the bereft Mother of the Missions 
sleeps the southern sleep of forgetfulness while the croon- 
ing voices of the Vermilion Sea whisper wistfully about her. 
They are telling of the days when the admirals of Cortez 
sought the Island of Cahfornia, they are singing of the 
knightly Salvatierra, first of the Jesuits, of the earnest 
Franciscan, Junipero Serra, of cowled Dominicans, of 
haughty Dons, earliest Governors of the Californias, who 
here held court. They are murmuring of armadores de 
perlas who delved deep for brilliant pearls. With plain^ 
tive sadness they are whispering of storms that rocked the 
Mother Mission, of corsairs who bore away her wreaths of 
pearls, of the passing of the Padres, of glories lost, of op- 
pression, of neglect and of dreams. 

As I passed through the fringe of thatched houses and 
entered the plaza with its eighteenth century buildings of 
adobe and of stone, I felt that perchance the magic of the 
south had traced its finger tips across my brain, that perhaps 
the sharp Imagery in my agitated mind would fade could I 
but silence the voices of the sea. It is easy for him who is 
far removed by distance to Imagine, unreasoningly, disaster 
and death — and yet it Is difficult for such a one to realize 
their actuality when they come in fact. Were my thoughts 

213 



214 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

mere fantastic dreams? was I sleeping? was I waking? was 
my reason perchance disturbed by some fever? Insidiously, 
then clamorously, these questions arose, challenging con- 
sideration. In my native language, from the one American 
in the village I had just heard the unbelievable northern 
catastrophe verified, with merely a lessening of the loss of 
life first related, and had had thrust into my hands a Los 
Angeles paper that, by illustrations and headlines, certified 
to the destruction and burning of San Francisco. 

From a merchant on the plaza I learned that Loreto had 
no communication with the world either by telephone or by 
telegraph; that a Gulf steamer had come in on the 28th 
instant and another might touch in a week, though perhaps 
not for two weeks; that the American steamer, the 
Curacao from San Francisco might stop at Magdalena 
Bay on the 9th of May, it certainly would touch at La Paz 
on the 17th of May. How far distant was Magdalena 
Bay? Quien sahe, probably seventy-five leagues; La Paz 
was one hundred and ten. My course I outlined even as 
he spoke : Magdalena Bay, then back across the Peninsula 
to La Paz. I consulted with Praemundi. The burros 
were a trifle tired after their hard trip from Sant' Agueda, 
but pasada manana (day after to-morrow) he thought they 
would be ready for the camino. Could they start to-mor- 
row afternoon? "Si, senor, listo manana tardes," (Yes, 
sir, ready to-morrow afternoon) was his reply. 

Half wishing myself a devout Roman Catholic, able to 
forget all troubles in prostration before the Cross, I strolled 
over to the mission, mechanically noting its detail, j^ large 
church it was, built of stone, the rough and cut cemented to- 
gether, flat roofed, with bells swung above the northeast 
corner. Off at the right were a cemetery and an ell form- 
ing a chapel; to the left extended a goodly patio. At the 
main entrance, facing the sea, there were doors, double and 



THE PEARL MISSIONS OF THE JESUITS 215 

ancient. Pausing before them I searched in vain for the 
inscription mentioned by the historian Bancroft as being 
upon the casement. Entering, I noticed above me a pro- 
jecting gallery, perhaps a choir loft, with a high carved rail- 
ing. So long and narrow was the interior of the church 
that I had an impression not unlike that received upon enter- 
ing a deep, high vaulted cave. Thinking of the early days 
when the altar was decked with golden ornaments and the 
shrines and Images with ropes of pearls, I could easily 
imagine that on holy days the flickering candles made a 
scene as effective as when twinkling lights call forth a bril- 
liant resplendency among the myriad stalactites In some 
deep and lofty cavern. By pacing I found the width of the 
interior but twenty feet while its length was nearly nine 
times as great; the height I estimated at thirty-five feet. 
With walls five feet In thickness the windows and doors of 
the church are deeply indented; shutters and rounded 
wooden bars protect the windows. The flooring Is part 
stone cubes, part earth — and the footprints In the dust are 
all of women. Though made of stone the altar has been 
sadly dismantled. About It there are several one-piece 
onyx fonts, beautiful even In their fractured state. Above 
the altar hang three large oil paintings and five empty 
frames; above and back of the shrines — of which there are 
several — there are Immense torn tapestries, sadly faded 
from the rain that has come through the leaky roof. At 
the left of the altar there Is a closed room, used to store 
what has escaped the cupidity of vandals. From the patio 
a broken stairway leads through the choir loft and upwards 
to the roof and the bells, five In number. Dating back as 
they do to the close of the seventeenth century, it is not sur- 
prising that the rim surfaces of these bells have been worn 
smooth, the outer surfaces, too, for the usual method of 
sounding them seems to have been for a man to strike them 



2l6 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

in quick succession with an iron bar. The mission has suf- 
fered so severely from earthquakes and neglect that only a 
suggestion of its pristine beauty and majesty now remains — 
and unless repairs are promptly made the main building 
will shortly fall asunder. 

Though the Padre comes but once a year the women of 
Loreto are constant in their visits to the church. Even while 
I loitered within Its precincts a sound of deep sobbing adver- 
tised the presence of a worshiper. She had thrown herself 
down at the right of the altar before a latticed door through 
which she could look upon the image of the Virgin in the 
adjoining chapel. A more forlorn figure I never saw. 
Absorbed, unconscious of my presence, she poured forth her 
grief in doleful cadence, confessing such transgressions that 
I fled In embarrassment. 

In Loreto there are half a thousand residents, varied and 
numerous varieties of fruits and vegetables grow readily 
and there Is a considerable export trade, much of It being 
the produce of Comondu. Off shore a league or so lies 
Carmen Island where there Is a supply of salt so inexhaust- 
ible as to remind one of the fairy tale of a salt mill that 
supplied the ocean. To the west of the town rise the ma- 
jestic heights of the Sierra Giganta. But I gave small heed 
to surroundings, scenery or people, though I do remember 
that it was the first settlement in Lower California where 
I found the word ''Gringo'' in use in place of the more gra- 
cious "Americano." Also, and with pleasure, I recall a 
young Mexican of twenty-five or six, Don Amadeo Romero, 
who introduced himself and his brother to me: they were 
the most thorough gentlemen and the most progressive men 
of their age whom I had met upon the Peninsula. "Sir," 
said Don Amadeo, "you presented a carta de recommen- 
dacion to a gentleman in Santa Rosalia to whose daughter 
I have the honor to be affianced. It is my privilege, there- 






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THE PEARL MISSIONS OF THE JESUITS 217 

fore, to be at your service and It will be a pleasure for me 
to give you cartas to my friends further south." Did I 
want to write ? Yes, it would be fitting for me to write from 
Loreto, the early capital of old California, to the Governor 
of the new California at Sacramento ; furthermore, I would 
write to my brother. Then the office was at my disposal, 
the library, too, the home. Ah, how can the traveler fully 
express his appreciation of that gracious courtesy of 
Mexico, inherited from the ancient Dons, that expansive 
liospitality which, upon the slightest demand, blossoms out, 
flower-like. 

I spent the evening leaning against a lancha down by the 
shore, looking abstractedly out across the moonlit waves. 
Disturbed at length by two drunken Yaqui Indians, I tapped 
my revolver significantly and strode away to my blankets. 
The ensuing morning I revisited the Mission in time to wit- 
ness an interesting little scene in the chapel. The mother of 
five daughters had come to give tardy thanks to Our Lady 
of Loreto — the special patroness, apparently, of mothers, 
for an infant son. Kneeling before the image, the naked 
child in her arms, the mother poured forth her prayers of 
gratitude and thanksgiving. From the walls twenty paint- 
ings of sacred characters looked down upon the scene, while 
flowers decked the altar, making fragrant the air. Soon 
the father and muchachas entered and I was given permis- 
sion to take a picture of the mother and babe. 

"He is a man-child, a man-child," cried the woman, fond- 
ling the chubby infant, happily. 

"I have a son," said the father, proudly. Then in his 
expansive joy he inquired whether I had sons. "What, un 
soltero!'* he exclaimed aghast. Quickly recovering himself, 
he added, with a gay laugh, "Ah, our first born. Carmen" — 
or Maria, Lollta, Josefa — I have unromantlcally forgotten 
just which — "Is twelve, in three years return, she will then 



21 8 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

be a Senorita. You may wed her, Sefior." Carmen — or 
Maria, Lolita, Josefa — her father's arm on her shoulder, 
nodded smilingly while I, placing my hand upon my heart, 
bowed in acknowledgment of the honor. 

That afternoon, May the first, I was again on the camino. 
Departing from Loreto by the Los Parros trail, we soon 
escaped from the cactus clad plains and entered a long wind- 
ing arroyo from which a steep trail ascends into the Sierra 
Giganta, passing through the precipitous gorge of Los Par- 
ros. Here, turning in the saddle, I obtained a superb view 
in which the distant Gulf, the sloping plains, the lofty cliffs, 
the pinnacled picachos, the ferns, wild grape vines and mes- 
quit were before the eye at a single glance. By the upper 
end of the gorge and beyond a sudden turn in the trail snug- 
gles the Rancho of Los Parros, a few verdant acres of rich 
soil drawing life from a tiny network of irrigating ditches 
and rich in lofty olive trees, fluttering palms, ancient orange 
trees — full ten metres in height — trellised vines and deep 
green garden. On the 2nd instant we crossed a divide byond 
Los Parros and soon came to another rancho, the Watering 
Place of Doves, a name typical of many of the euphonious 
and delightful designations to be found among the Penin- 
sula ranchos. The name of this rancho, however, proved 
more attractive than its people, whose ranching, by the way, 
consisted in making mescal. 

A league and half southeast from this rancho brought 
us to a sharp bend in the arroyo, passing which we arrived 
unexpectedly before the Mission of San Xavier. Although 
I had heard extravagant tales from the natives concerning 
the beauty of this mission I was in no wise prepared for the 
splendor of the structure that now arose before me. Cross- 
ing a small brooklet, we entered the village — a few Indian 
shacks and half a dozen low Mexican adobes — and rode 
down its single street, guarded on our right by a stone wall 



THE PEARL MISSIONS OF THE JESUITS 219 

that seemed to admit the futility of endeavoring to screen 
the immense orange, lemon, olive and pomegranate trees 
which even generations ago must have overtopped its high- 
est points. At the north end of the street there stood a sub- 
stantial stone monument surmounted by an ancient stone 
cross. Down at the farther end of the street, a hundred 
paces distant, rose the Mission of San Francisco Xavier de 
Vigge, a splendid stone structure, rich in the noble elegance 
of Moorish and Romanesque architecture, and worthy of 
the name of the most beautiful mission church on the Pacific 
coast. Since the halcyon days of the missions when noble 
prelates and armored grandees made stated visits to the 
Peninsula, doubtless no Bishop's eyes have seen this glorious 
church of the wilderness. Once only, in each year, does a 
Padre cross the threshold. A dozen, possibly fifteen, fami- 
lies, Indian and Mexican, constitute the village : they are the 
sole worshipers before the rich altar of San Xavier; they are 
the sole guardians of its precincts, the faithful custodians of 
its secrets. Close around iglesia, adobes, and shacks, rise 
the lofty peaks and ridges of the Sierra Giganta, grimly 
watching, protecting. 

From the southwest corner of the iglesia there juts out an 
ell within which dwells a kindly Mexican family. Here, 
doubtless, in olden times the Padres lived and received 
chance travelers; here, until my departure the following 
day, I was lodged, for, as I bore a letter to the Senor of 
the household from Don Amadeo, a hospitable welcome 
was accorded me. The few hours at my disposal, except- 
ing the time I spent in chatting with my hosts and paying 
visits to a sick boy in the principal adobe, I passed with 
delighted interest within the church. 

One entered by a great double doorway at the west. Simi- 
lar doorways open out at the north and east. Once there 
was a patio into which the western doorway opened. Pre- 



*220 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

sumably, those at the north constitute the main entrance, for 
cut in the stone archway above, are the figures 175 1, being, 
I assume, the date of completion of the structure. By the 
eastern doorway there is a cemetery. A well-built wall of 
cut stone protects the churchyard at the north and east; 
to the south there are stone cisterns and aqueducts, the ruins 
of an earlier church, and perhaps fifteen acres of irrigable 
land. The interior of the church is spacious and well lighted. 
In length it measures forty paces, in width, seven ; the height 
must be above twelve metres. The broad doorways indent 
the sides. High aloft, on either side, four windows — deep 
set for the solid walls are five feet in thickness — admit the 
light. The altar is of stone and wood, and on either side 
doors open into lofty rooms wherein are stored what re- 
mains of the ancient and costly altar trappings. Eight paces 
below the altar there is a carved altar rail, and on either 
side of and below this rail there are alcoves, seven paces by 
five, floor dimensions. Each alcove has its saintly shrines. 
The floor of the iglesia is level and marvelously smooth, the 
blocks of stone with which it was constructed having been 
cunningly welded together with a rare cement, the secret of 
which is said to be lost. The walls are whitened, the roof 
is vaulted and in places there are frescos. Bending forward 
slightly, back and above the altar, stands a life size image 
of San Francisco, skillfully carved out of hard wood. 
Against the wall, above the image, there are two full length 
oil paintings of saints, ranged one above the other, while 
two other tiers of paintings with three canvases to the 
tier, are arranged one on either side of the center tier. Each 
shrine, moreover, has similar sets of paintings, together 
with many smaller ones. At the east shrine there is a small 
canvas with a masterly representation of the Last Supper. 
From each of the shrines some paintings have been 
abstracted, so, also, have some of the jewels from the 




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The mother and child in the chapel at Loreto 



THE PEARL MISSIONS OF THE JESUITS 221 

Communion Service and from the halo of San Francisco. 

Within and just above the main entrance to the church 
there is a choir loft, with a spiral stairway leading to it and 
upward to the dome-shaped belfry above, where once eight 
great bells chimed forth their peals. The upper portion of 
this stairway is of palm wood and shows signs of decay, the 
lower portion is of stone. Six of the bells have been re- 
moved: one to the City of Mexico, one to Loreto and the 
others to La Paz and Comondu. Roof and belfry, alike, 
are of stone and cement and there is no evidence of tiling 
about the structure. So magnificent was the workmanship 
of the builders of San Xavier that the passage of time, 
neglect and the convulsions of the earth, alike, have failed 
to mar their handiwork and the mission stands to-day in a 
perfect state of preservation. 

The history of the mission dates back to the seventeenth 
century, for it was in the fall of 1697 that Padre Francisco 
Maria Piccolo, a highly educated native of Sicily and a 
staunch friend of Salvatierra, joined the latter at Loreto 
with a firm purpose of establishing a mission. Two years 
later he successfully laid the foundations of the Mission of 
San Francisco Xavier de Vigge. San Xavier was located 
in the midst of an Indian settlement, situated eight leagues 
southwest of Loreto. With a stream of water and a plot of 
fertile soil near by, crops were abundant; the Indians, how- 
ever, were turbulent and to curb them required much mus- 
cular Christianity. 

The site was thrice changed. This data and a mass of 
miraculous details are provided by the old chroniclers. Tra- 
dition adds that over two million pesos, a portion of the 
Virgin's share in the pearl fisheries of the Gulf, were ex- 
pended on the iglesia, the service and paintings, that the 
work of construction continued over thirty years and that 
buried treasure lies within ninety-nine metres of the altar. 



222 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

Were San Xavier In the path of the sight-seer its beauty 
would be heralded universally. In the closing days of the 
eighteenth century there were over thirty mission establish- 
ments In Baja California. To-day ten secular Italian priests, 
volunteers sent by his Holiness the Pope, minister to the 
Californlans. To the three most beautiful Missions, San 
Ignacio, Comondu and San Xavier, a Padre comes but once 
a year. Rarely, indeed, are these missions visited by 
travelers from the outer world. Ignorant eyes gaze sleep- 
ily upon massive architecture in which Grecian, Moorish 
and Spanish types are strangely blended. Paintings over 
which Italian masters labored, look down upon unapprecia- 
tlve clods. When the Anglo-Saxon visitor comes, he usually 
comes as a despoller, seeking for buried treasure which 
exists frequently in tradition, only, or in fable. 

Although the sierras tower above the i^lesia of San 
Xavier in all the somber grandeur of repellent cliffs. Its 
shadows fall upon lovely gardens where sweet-scented 
flowers bloom In the midst of alfalfa, corn, garabanzas and 
grain, where delicate tendrils from trelllsed vines cling to 
white limbs of mammoth fig trees and where olive, pome- 
granate, orange and lemon trees rival one another in their 
unusual size. The oranges are juicy and of excellent flavor. 
The lemons are large, rounded like an orange and in taste 
resemble grape fruit rather than the lemons produced in 
more northerly climes. When we made our departure from 
San Xavier, we were overwhelmed with these golden fruits, 
tokens of a mother's grateful appreciation of the medicines 
which I had gladly administered to her sick boy. 



CHAPTER XVII 



A LONG FORCED MARCH 



BEFORE leaving San Xavier I gave serious considera- 
tion to the journey immediately before us. Accord- 
ing to local authority, La Paz, via the shortest 
trail, the San Luis Camino, lay distant one hundred leagues. 
As local authority could safely be depended upon for an 
exaggeration of sierra distances, I reduced the hundred to 
sixty-five. From this route, however, it would be neces- 
sary for us to deviate many leagues in order to carry out 
my plan of making inquiry for news at Matancital, near the 
great Bay of Magdalena on the Pacific. How many leagues 
of deviation, I could only indefinitely surmise, for I had been 
unable to find anyone who had ever traveled to La Paz, 
via Matancital. I knew that San Luis lay in the sierras. 
Praemundi was certain that the barren sweep of the dread 
Llanos de Magdalena measured full twenty-five leagues 
from the ocean to the sierras. If this proved correct, cross- 
ing the Llanos de Magdalena and then swinging back to San 
Luis would increase the distance to La Paz by fifty leagues. 
Realizing that on the plains a mule might approach his two 
leagues per hour, I merely struck off one-sixth from Prae- 
mundi's figures, leaving the aggregate distance at one hun- 
dred and seven leagues, an accurate approximation for the 
Matancital route, as I learned later. To reach La Paz 
the night before the arrival of the steamer Curacao, it 
would be necessary to cover this distance in fourteen days, 
inclusive. This meant an average of twenty-three miles a 

223 



224 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

day, over rough and unknown trails and with no allowance 
for rests. 

Possessed by anxiety concerning the consequences of the 
northern disaster, I cared for no rests, and realizing the 
possibility of the steamer's bringing me such personal ill 
news that I would wish to dispose of my outfit and take 
passage for its return trip on the 20th instant, I felt that I 
simply must undertake, and, within the fourteen days, must 
complete the impressively long march to Matancital and 
thence to La Paz. My mozos appreciating my anxiety stood 
ready to push on, although they both feared the dread 
Llanos de Magdalena. In deliberating I gave serious 
thought to my animals. My outfit consisted of two large 
pack burros, Vapor and Cabrillo, and two riding burros, 
Colon and Serrano. Of these Cabrillo and Serrano had 
just covered two hundred and forty miles from Sant' 
Agueda in eighteen days, during six of which they had 
been at rest. Prior to this and with but a fortnight's rest 
intervening, Cabrillo, the finest burro I ever knew of, had 
come in ten weeks through eight hundred and fifty miles of 
sierras and deserts, bearing a cargo at times weighing two 
hundred pounds. He now carried one hundred and thirty 
pounds and Vapor about ninety. With my one hundred and 
sixty pounds of avoirdupois, my saddle, canteen, cantinas, 
carbine, revolver and camera. Colon had two hundred and 
twenty pounds to carry. Serrano, an active stocky burro, 
had an easy time with Jesus, a slender boy sitting a light 
saddle. Finally, my animals, my mozos and I were in per- 
fect physical condition. 

Midday of the third of May bidding the kindly people 
of San Xavier "Adios,'' we entered the camino southward 
bound. Following the course of the arroyo for three and a 
half leagues we came to a grove of superb fan palms grow- 
ing in the mouth of an intersecting arroyo down which we 




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A LONG FORCED MARCH 2i25 

turned. Half a league further I discovered In a thicket of 
brush and cacti, just off the camino, the ruins of an extremely 
ancient mission. The iglesia had been well constructed of 
cut stone and Its walls were still standing. Near at hand 
were the remains of other buildings made of rough stone ; 
also, and In excellent state of preservation, a magnificent 
cistern, seventy feet square and six feet In depth, and a large 
corral with high substantial stone walls. Two sets of stone 
stairways descended Into the cistern and aqueducts led to 
and from it. In response to Inquiries which I put to him, a 
passing ranchero stated that this was the site and these were 
the ruins of La Presentacion, a mission far antedating San 
Xavier. As no such mission is mentioned by the chroniclers. 
La Presentacion was doubtless the first foundation of 
San Xavier and as the earliest structures at Loreto were 
temporary, this iglesia Is probably the oldest mission church 
in the Calif ornias, the one survival, indeed, from the seven- 
teenth century. 

Early the morning of the 4th instant we were under way 
and thereafter the journey became a feverish, restless march. 
Weeks before I had read those lines in which Kipling de- 
scribes the impatience that seizes upon the hunter and now 
into my mind again and again came the second stanza, 

"He must go-go-go away from here! 
On the other side the world he's overdue, 
'Send your road is clear before you 
When the old Spring fret comes o'er you 
And the Red Gods call for you!" 

I seemed unable to escape the first three lines and over and 
over with personal application I would repeat, 

" — go-go-go away from here ! 
On the other side the world you're overdue, 
'Send the road Is clear before you — 
— go-go-go away from here!" etc. 



22 6 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

For a time I fretted constantly over the slow advance of my 
burros and chafed because, not daring to assume that the 
San Francisco banks had weathered the storm, I could not, 
by recourse to my check book, purchase horses. But when 
the caminos were at their worst and grazing scant I realized 
that the horse has his limitations and the burro his advan- 
tages. For the humbler beast no sierra trail is too fearful, 
no provender too poor; browsing on cacti he can exist with- 
out water; he survives or avoids the eating of poisonous 
herbs; he outlasts all other beasts of the sierra caminos. 
Though his pace is deadly slow, it is steady, continuous; it 
goes on, on, monotonously on perhaps, but ever on, un- 
swervingly on, on, cutting away and wearing down distance 
until the goal is attained. And yet when one is in a hurry 
this perfect mountaineer, this faithful, slow moving, un- 
hastening servant rarely receives his due. 

There is a fascination in such a steady continued onward 
march. As I fell into the swing of it I began to imagine 
myself a mere cog of locomotion, finally becoming so fever- 
ishly impatient of any break in the advance as to permit only 
the imperative halts at noon and night — and to postpone 
them. My camera swung in its unopened case, my carbine 
remained sheathed, leaving the camino to shoot with the 
small rifle was forbidden. Our manner of life becoming 
fixed, fell into systematized grooves. With the break of 
day we would awake. Wrapping his serapa close about his 
shivering shoulders, Praemundi would start forth in search 
of the grazing burros leaving Jesus to make a small fire and 
prepare breakfast. After dressing myself, performing my 
ablutions and rolling my blankets away in a dunnage bag, I 
would proceed to transfer the preceding day's entries from 
pocket notebook to journal. Soon Praemundi would ap- 
pear with the burros, and while he put the pack-saddles on 
Cabrillo and Vapor, Jesus and I would saddle our riding 



A LONG FORCED MARCH 227 

animals. Then sitting together, cross-legged by the fire, 
we would eat a plain breakfast of broiled doves or "cotton- 
tail" rabbit, stewed prunes, boiled rice, hard-tack, or flour 
and water tortillas, and wild honey. My mozos drank 
strong coffee, water sufficed for me. On the Llanos de 
Magdalena and in such other localities as we found dense 
morning mists, Praemundi took his coffee before going in 
search of the burros. In fact he lived at all times princi- 
pally upon coffee. Breakfast concluded, the boy would 
rinse the tin dishes while Praemundi and I stowed the sup- 
plies in the alforcas. Then the two would pack Cabrillo 
and Vapor, employing a sort of "old squaw" hitch with the 
rope. Meantime I would strap on my revolver, slip the 
cantinas over my saddle pommel and continue my journal 
work. 

^'Listo caminando" (Ready for marching), Praemundi 
would sing out, presently. With a responsive "Bueno" I 
would mount my burro, and slipping my journal into the 
cantinas, ride to the head of the little caravan. The animals 
once in their gait, I would dismount and walk ahead for sev- 
eral hours. These walks were bracing and I expect Colon 
appreciated my taking them. They certainly kept me In 
revolver practice; for I would Invariably find a rattlesnake 
or two stretched across the camlno. Halting at midday, 
we would have lunch, first, however, unsaddling and turn- 
ing loose the animals. Our menu would be dried slabs of 
beef broiled on the coals, hard-tack, boiled rice and wild 
honey. After an hour's nooning the Mexicans would round 
up the burros while I wrote In my journal. These midday 
halts would occupy between one and two hours' time. Again 
on the march we would travel until six or eight o'clock at 
night, camping In the vicinity of feed or water, or both, If 
possible. Each afternoon I walked a league or more but 
Praemundi, my walking mozo, was the springy, easy-galted, 



228 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

high class pedestrian of our party. That man could walk 
a horse to death. 

As soon as we halted for the night, packs and saddles 
would be quickly removed from the burros and the weary 
creatures would slip away, unhobbled and untied. From 
the necks of two of them ropes would be left to drag and 
accentuate their trail. In grazing they kept well together. 
We would now be hungry and deadly tired. Again we 
would eat broiled dried beef, boiled rice, honey and tortillas, 
with strong coffee for the Mexicans. Supper concluded, 
we would clear of stones and cactus thorns places large 
enough for our bodies and then throw down our blankets. 
For two months I had rarely pitched my tent. During the 
day Jesus or I would have shot half a dozen doves, or 
perhaps a "cottontail," with my short-barreled, single shot 
.22 calibre rifle which, for the most part he carried swung 
by a strap from his saddle. These he would now dress 
while Praemundl and I discussed directions for the follow- 
ing day. Neither of us had ever been through the coun- 
try, though he had traveled along the Gulfo Camino years 
before and I had an ancient map, that was fairly accurate, 
and two modern maps that partook of the wonted unrelia- 
bility of Peninsula California interior charts. Soon we 
would all stretch out, each man swathed by himself like a 
mummy. Though I was too anxious to rest well, my com- 
panions slept soundly. We always took care to spread our 
blankets off the camino itself, for at night it would become 
the highway for "side-winders," mala zoreas, and I know 
not what other evil creatures and insects. 

Except when we were upon the Llanos de Magdalena, all 
the trails — and many of them were ancient camlnos of the 
Padres — were clogged with stones. Even on these plains 
bristling sections of cholla and swaying branches of pithaya 
amarga retarded travel. Moreover, we were In a cattle 



A LONG FORCED MARCH 229 

country where cross trails and by-paths made the question 
of which was the main camino a matter of frequent debate. 
Early one morning we met the most rapid pedestrian I ever 
saw, a gaunt Italian, outward bound from La Paz. Save 
for a long dagger and a canteen, he carried no luggage or 
accoutrement. His haste, his business or his lack of outfit 
were no affairs of ours, but his tracks served to advise us of 
the camino. Later in the day two incidents occurred illus- 
trative of the farcical Peninsula misuse of the word camino, 
which is supposed to signify a roadway. Wondering which 
to follow, we had halted at the junction of half a dozen 
narrow cow paths, when Praemundi pointing to the least 
used trail exclaimed, "J Hi, los rastros del Italiano" (There, 
the tracks of the Italian.) Jesus at once dismounted for a 
close examination. ^'Si, Senor/' he announced quietly, 
"aqui el camino" (Yes, sir, here is the highway.) We fol- 
lowed the "highway." Presently a young "cottontail" rab- 
bit darted across our path, some rods before us. When we 
arrived at the spot where the little fellow had crossed, 
Praemundi paused and looked critically about. "Ah," he 
whispered pointing earnestly toward the tiny tracks leading 
off Into the cacti, "alii caminito de conejito. Conejito muy 
hueno came." (Ah, there is the little highway of the baby 
rabbit. Baby rabbit excellent meat.) 

Twice we fell In with Rurales. The second party con- 
sisted of an officer and two men. After giving his name 
and rank — Carlos Gonzales, Captain of the Gendarmes 
Federal — the officer inquired, in excellent English and In the 
most courteous manner, by what authority I carried a car- 
bine and side-arms. 

"Captain," I replied, formally, for I realized that he was 
acting in accord with the regulations, "I am In your country 
as a traveler and a hunter after big game. I am traveling 
under the protection of a Mexican passport and of one from 



230 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

Washington. Moreover, I have a formal Mexican permit 
to carry arms." 

"I assumed as much, sir," he replied, "but It was my duty 
to make Inquiry. I trust your travels have been pleasant." 

"Thank you, Captain Gonzales, they have Indeed been 
pleasant," I replied. "As for my passports and permit 
they are here In my cantinas." 

"Further examination Is needless. I have your word and 
I do not wish to hinder you further," he replied. Then, 
while I persistently produced the documents, he addressed 
Praemundl In Spanish, saying, "Seiior you may meet some of 
my men along the camlno. We are searching for an 
offender. Tell them that I have said that your patron Is 
not to be molested." 

I especially appreciated the courtesy of the Captain, for 
having been upon the trail so long I looked more like a 
contrahandista or a desperado than a peaceable traveler. 
Fortunately for me Captain Gonzales was too keen an offi- 
cer to judge by appearances. Had he officiously detained me 
as a suspicious character or allowed his men the opportunity 
of delaying me, my plans would have been upset entirely. 

Each day we came to some well or water-hole close by 
which would be the house of a ranchero. Although these 
rancheros controlled all the way from a thousand to a hun- 
dred thousand acres — the area of one grant ran into the mil- 
lions — their houses were usually mere jacales, or huts with 
thatched roofs and stake-and-mud walls. The limitations 
of their larders accorded with the poverty of their homes. 
With cheese, dried beef, milk, beans, tortillas, wild honey, 
coffee and salt on hand they considered themselves well pro- 
visioned. Many of them were without coffee or panoche, 
while flour and rice were luxuries. Their tortillas they 
made from flour crushed on metates. Though big horn 
were to be had in the sierras and deer and countless doves in 




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A LONG FORCED MARCH 23 1 

both sierras and on the plains, the men were frequently 
without ammunition and absolutely ignorant of the art of 
trapping. Every rancho would support flocks of goats and 
herds of cattle and stock. The goats were held at two and 
three pesos each, burros from ten to twenty pesos, cows 
from thirty to thirty-five, horses from twenty-five to sixty- 
five, and mules from thirty to seventy-five pesos. 

The rancheros and their sons usually wore leather leg- 
gins and in riding were further protected from thorns by 
immense flaring leather chaparejos. The Seiioras were ex- 
tremely religious and many of the younger Seiioritas de- 
cidedly pretty. Upon one rancho I found a widow living 
alone with three little daughters, the guardians of her flock 
of goats. Noting the clear complexions, graceful bearing 
and clear-cut features of these poor, bare-footed little las- 
sies, I wished that some pastoral poet might appear, for 
surely their beauty would awaken the Muse, The vaqueros 
reported lions extremely troublesome in the sierras, and we 
saw any number of coyotes, foxes and large hawks. At one 
rancho a burly, good-natured Mexican showed me the heads 
of three lions which he had recently slain with the assistance 
of his perros grandes (big dogs). With keen regret I de- 
clln-ed his hearty invitation to delay and hunt with him. Not- 
withstanding their impoverished condition, these people 
were universally cordial, selling me dried beef and honey at 
moderate prices and expressing deep sympathy with my anx- 
iety concerning the northern disaster. With the "adios" of 
parting they would invariably couple a wish that I find my 
"familia y dinero" (family and money) safe. 

In the sierras our route followed the course of Immense 
canons, the San Xavier, Las Palmas, Santa Lucia, Santa 
Cruz, Guadalupe and Los Reyes Arroyos, which twisted 
about until I again and again put aside my compass in abso- 
lute despair of keeping accurate record of directions. Down 



232 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

upon the Llanos de Magdalena, likewise, our course was 
continually placed in doubt by the multitude of cattle trails. 
Though these extensive plains are arid and overgrown with 
cacti, were they cleared and watered their soil would prove 
productive. The appearance of this country is desolate and 
forlorn. The nights are foggy and the days stifling hot. 
It was along the shores of the great Bay of Magdalena 
which indents these plains that a company of which General 
Butler was the president, attempted to plant a colony back 
in the early seventies. Hostility of the local government, 
coupled with mismanagement, lack of water, over-booming 
and general misrepresentation, made the scheme a failure. 
lA Boston and New York concern now controls the coast line 
along the Pacific from latitude twenty-three degrees thirty 
minutes north, to the twenty-ninth parallel of north latitude, 
with an inland extension of fourteen miles. This barren 
principality contains over four million acres, quite a farm. 

We arrived at the Rancho of Matancital, the local head- 
quarters of this company, the evening of the 9th of May. 
The moon was shining brightly as I halted before a high 
fence within which stood a well lighted frame house, the 
home of the resident manager, W. J. Heney, Esq. Finding 
a doorway in the wall, I entered and strode along a board 
walk to the porch. Pausing before an open doorway, I saw 
within a decidedly blond, wide-awake looking man of 
thirty-two or three engaged in conversation with a handsome 
middle-aged matron. I knocked on the casing. The two 
looked up, the lady at once withdrawing, 

"Buenos noches, Sehor" I began, unconsciously employing 
the Spanish greeting. 

"Buenos noches," replied the blond man, surveying me 
listlessly. 

"^Ista casa se de Senor Heney?" (Is this the house of 
Mr. Heney?) I continued, suddenly possessed with a curi- 



A LONG FORCED MARCH 233 

osity to see whether an American would accept me as a 
Mexican. 

"Si, Senor," was the response, in a deeply bored tone. 

"^Sehor Heney aqtiif" (Mr. Heneyhere?) 

"Si, Sehor." 

"Ta biieno, Senor Heney. Yo tengo una carta de recom- 
mendacion por V'd," I continued. Then, unable to keep up 
the farce, I laughed outright and added, "When my burro 
train comes up, I'll yank the letter out of my cantinas. Mean- 
time, North Is my name — I am an American. What news 
have you from San Francisco?" 

"Ah," he muttered, with a quickly drawn breath of read- 
justment. "I thought you were a Mexican official come to 
arrest me for the violation of some new stamp act of the 
existence of which I had not as yet been advised. It Is some 
little time since my last arrest." This final remark he made 
in a musing tone. "Come In," he added. 

I entered, mightily glad to confer with a fellow country- 
man. We chatted together until midnight. Of the north- 
ern situation he knew little more than I, though he had a 
notion that the banks in San Francisco had gone under. 
The following day I saw something of Matancltal. Trees, 
vines and vegetables were flourishing under irrigation from 
a twenty thousand gallon cistern, kept overflowing by a 
steam pump which forced a large stream from a well in a 
neighboring arroyo. Heney presented me to his aunt — the 
matron whom I had observed — and her daughter. The 
latter, as his secretary and the company's bookkeeper — ac- 
counts are required to be kept both In Spanish and English 
— has her time well occupied. In place of bemoaning her 
exile, this young lady has so won the respectful esteem of 
the Rancheros and Senoras In the vicinity that for days I 
had heard praise of her knowledge of Spanish, her gracious- 
ness and her bravery. 



234 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

Complimenting her upon her spirit, I said, "I am told 
that you have spent ten days at a time, alone, down at the 
island residence, a revolver strapped to your waist." She 
smiled. "Had you seen me one noon crouching in the 
shadow of a cardon on the Tepetates Camino, weakly cry- 
ing because I was tired, you would not have thought me a 
heroine." Knowing that modesty and spirit are close 
friends, I ceased my compliments. I was to hear, again, 
however, of these "weak tears." They were shed from 
sheer exhaustion in the midst of a one hundred and eighty 
mile ride which she made in three days and a half — and 
made in the interest of others! 

At noon on the loth of May, the Heneys drove down to 
Magdalena Bay, a few miles distant, while I, enriched by 
gifts of eggs and Mexican hard-tack, took the trail for La 
Paz, fifty-six leagues distant. When twenty leagues slightly 
south of east of Matancital, we arrived at the old Jesuit 
Mission of San Luis Gonzaga, founded in 1740. Though 
small the iglesia is well ornamented and in excellent state of 
repair. The subsidiary mission buildings are used by Don 
Benigno de la Toba, a descendant of one of the old Cali- 
fornia Spanish governors and the proprietor of the 
Hacienda or Plantation of San Luis. Near the mission we 
observed an extensive red brick store, the most imposing 
modern private building In Lower California. In the ab- 
sence of the Don, we were cared for by his major domo, an 
old Mexican of methodical ways. 

At dusk, two days later, we met Don Benigno on the 
camino. He was mounted upon a splendid animal and his 
dress and accoutrement were well chosen. Perhaps he was 
forty-five years of age, perhaps a trifle more. In build he 
was rather portly. His manners and bearing were those of 
a gentleman accustomed to the company of gentlemen. After 
reading a letter which I presented to him, he answered my 





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A LONG FORCED MARCH 235 

numerous questions with extreme affability. His hacienda 
contains over one hundred thousand acres of land and 
twenty families are employed in its care. Barring droughts 
that at times afflict the country, good rains can be counted 
upon every other year. On his property he has had over 
twenty wells dug, water being found at an average depth of 
thirty metres. 

Though no hint of the subject was given by either of the 
principals, rancheros assured me of the existence of a bitter 
feud between Heney and Don Benigno, a feud which has in- 
creased with the continuance of legal differences. The 
situation is simple enough. Both men are cattle barons and 
their lands adjoin. It is a case of worthy foemen. Heney 
is a fighting American, of the same blood as a certain noted 
prosecutor; the Don comes of an ancient and illustrious 
Spanish family. 

Out from San Luis I had taken the Salto Los Reyes 
Camino, a trail enriched by beautiful scenery. Deep In an 
arroyo we found the Salto Los Reyes, the Kings' Leap, a 
high bluff, crowned with a pile of stones, quarried in bygone 
days, and frowning down upon two shimmering pools of 
water where swallows, doves and hawks, side by side, slack 
their thirst. It is a royal spot. Out from the very heart of 
the cliff comes the water, clear and limpid. Down from this 
sheer cliff, in ancient days, 'tis said, a king of the Guiacuras 
leaped, close followed by a king of the Periciies. 'Twas a 
mighty leap. 

As the sun was sinking on the i6th day of May, a weary 
little party made camp close against the Gulf shore, just be- 
yond the Rancho of Arripaz and within sight of the capital 
of the Distrito Sur. Before us spread the lovely Bay of La 
Paz, calm as on that day, nigh four centuries gone by, when 
Cortez there found shelter. Whether the traditional and 
published tables of distances were correct and our round- 



236 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

about route from San Xavier had taken us over four hun- 
dred miles or whether my lesser figures were more accurate, 
I did not consider. We had completed a long forced march 
on time. Another day would end suspense. 



CHAPTER XVIII 

LA PAZ AND SOME OTHER PUEBLOS 

AS the sun was gilding the heights of the Cacachilas, I 
took an invigorating plunge into the Bay of La 
Paz; three hours later, my outfit corralled hard by 
the outskirts of the pueblo, I was striding along the wide 
streets inquiring the way to the Government House. A 
child, an aged woman and a muleteer successively and indefi- 
nitely informed me that it faced the plaza; then a soldier, 
clad in a white linen uniform, obligingly accompanied me to 
the very portals of the building. At the proper department 
I made inquiry, of a courteous and stately old gentleman, 
for Sr. Coronel Agustin de Sangines, the Jefe Politico of the 
District. His Excellency was not in, I was informed. 
Would I see his Secretary? I would. After a brief delay 
another most affable official, Sr. Arcadio Villegras, Secretary 
to the Jefe Politico, entered from an adjoining office and, 
greeting me in English, said: "I regret exceedingly that His 
Excellency, Coronel Sangines, is not in. If you will be so 
gracious as to accompany me, however, you will find mail 
which you are doubtless anxious to peruse." 

In another moment I was seated at a desk in a private 
office deep in a packet of letters. Though I have read since 
then many graphic accounts of San Francisco's fire and 
earthquake, no one of them has meant as much to me as did 
the first lines of a brief note which I read at La Paz. It 
was from my brother, dated at San Francisco, April 21st, 
1907. "Yours of the 4th instant duly received," it began. 

237 



238 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

Even an earthquake could not upset his methodical acknowl- 
edgment of a letter. "None of us are injured. I should 
have wired you but lines down and your whereabouts un- 
known. This city looks like Hell, Banks are closed. Hope 
you are well and that quake didn't reach you. Better come 
home for a month." 

Stuffing the other letters Into my pocket, I strode out into 
the open air, smiling and at peace with the world. After 
seventeen days of continual anxiety, after repeated visions 
of those nearest and dearest engulfed in flames or lying 
crushed, "None of us are injured" was a message that made 
life worth while again. My eyes once more noted surround- 
ings. 

As the capital of the Southern District, a prominent ship- 
ping port and the seat of the Gulf pearl industry. La Paz 
has long enjoyed a certain prestige. For many years it was 
the most populous place in all Lower California. Even now 
its numbers are on the increase, exceeding, in the aggregate, 
five thousand. It aspires after the ways of larger cities, 
however, and loses, thereby, the quaint medievalism that 
makes delightful such pueblos as San Ignacio and Comondu. 
I will not express an opinion as to whether or not La Paz 
has acquired due compensation for her loss. Indeed, I am 
not qualified to render an expert opinion on the subject. To 
my way of thinking man was absurdly stupid when he In- 
vented cities. I could enjoy being marooned on a million 
acre rancho and Invariably suffocate when I am thrown Into 
one of those mighty artificial tread-mills where a million 
mortals irritably rub shoulders against one another, dully 
thinking their fretful race to the grave is living. There- 
fore, I may as well hold my peace on the subject of cities. 

However, the hundreds of tall palm trees, the blossom- 
ing gardens, the streets lined with red-flowered trees — the 
arbol de ftiego — and the low, flat-roofed adobes give to La 



LA PAZ AND SOME OTHER PUEBLOS 239! 

Paz a delightful picturesqueness, lying, as it does, hard by 
the beautiful harbor. In this and in its historic associations 
lay, for me, the greatest charm of the little city. Here 
whites first set foot in the Californias ; here Cortez attempted 
to plant a settlement full seventy-five years ere the founda- 
tion of Jamestown; here swaggering buccaneers congre- 
gated; here landed Alexander Selkirk, the inspiration for 
Robinson Crusoe ; here were quartered American troops dur- 
ing the Mexican war; here came Walker with his tall young 
filibusters. 

After my early call on officialdom, I strolled about the 
town, admiring the gardens, meeting several Americans and 
finally locating an excellent hotel. The welcome Curacao 
having already nosed into the harbor, a ship's boat brought 
its chief officers ashore. The purser, a big, broad-shoul- 
dered, handsome chap, Byrd by name, smiled upon me rather 
quizzically. "Guess you're my man," he exclaimed, heart- 
ily. "We're just in from San Francisco. I've got letters 
and Instructions to cash a check for a traveler of your de- 
scription. Banks at home all closed so you couldn't draw 
on 'em here. Call on me. We return on the twenty- 
second." 

After this encouraging greeting I continued my tour of 
the town with increased good spirits. In a very brief time I 
discovered that the community was in the throes of intense 
excitement over charges preferred against one of the resident 
foreign consuls. As he was a man of means and a native of 
La Paz, feeling ran high and I had a difficult time explaining 
that a possible game of tennis and an Inspection of the local 
pearl fisheries appealed to me more than discussing a con- 
sular matter In which I had no concern. To give the official 
credit, he made no mention of the absorbing topic. After 
two sets at the nets I visited a factory where buttons were 
being made from pearl oyster shells. The pearl fishery re- 



240 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

gions of the Gulf are divided among three concessionlsts, 
one Enghsh and two Mexican. Yaqui Indians do the div- 
ing and the pearls are marketed in Europe. According to 
pubhc rumor, one of the Mexican concessionists was far 
away in durance vile all through forgetting some ten thou- 
sand dollars' worth of pearls when making his declaration 
at the Customs House in San Francisco. It's strange 
how the atmosphere of a custom house does affect the 
memory ! 

As I was returning to the hotel, after my stroll, I met a 
burly individual hurrying along with an immense revolver 
protruding belligerently from his inside coat-pocket. He 
explained to a resident with whom I chanced to be walking 
that he was avoiding the shedding of official blood by keep- 
ing away from the Governor, When I met the latter, as 
I did upon calling at the Government House later in the day, 
I decided that there might be two sides to the blood-letting 
operation. Sr. Coronel Sanglnes, Territorial Chief, or 
"Governor," is a swarthy, keen-eyed, middle-aged officer, 
well able to take care of himself and perform the duties of 
his office. Both he and his Secretary treated me, a visiting 
stranger, with extreme civility. The latter even undertook 
a wearisome amount of research to place at my disposal 
certain historical data. 

As Lower California is merely a territory, each of its 
two districts are in charge of a chief executive and military 
officer, a federal appointee, formally styled the Jefe Politico 
y Militar. The majority of the local federal officials have 
offices in the Government House, an imposing structure built 
around a court where soldiers lounge at ease. It occupies 
a block facing a plaza made attractive with flowers and 
shrubbery. Upon the opposite side of this plaza there Is a 
large church with adjacent parochial buildings. On visit- 
ing the church I had the pleasure of meeting Padre Rosse, 



LA PAZ AND SOME OTHER PUEBLOS 241 

an agreeable and well educated Italian, the Superior of the 
Peninsula Fathers. 

As I was recrossing the plaza, bound hotelwards, a car- 
riage with three occupants passed slowly by. One of the 
three I recognized instantly as a classmate of university 
days. "Hi, there!" I called out. 

"Hello. Who is it?" he answered. "Why, Great Scott, 
old man! Say, get in here and ride with us. Heard you 
were somewhere on the Peninsula. This is my wife — we 
,are running a mine down at Triunfo. Come visit us." 

As the sequel of this pleasant meeting, I threw my saddle 
on a horse the following day and rode southward eleven 
leagues over a good road which wound gradually up into 
the hills, bringing me to Triunfo, a pueblo of three thousand 
Inhabitants, which has grown up about the "Triunfo," or, as 
they are now termed, the "Progresso" gold and silver mines. 
Like Santa Rosalia, Triunfo is essentially a mining town, 
quickened by foreign capital and supervised by foreign 
brains. There all similarity ends, however, for Triunfo is 
less cosmopolitan, less ready-made and far more attractive 
than Santa Rosalia. Also, it is older and smaller. In 
addition to the mining plant, with its tall brick chimneys, 
chugging stamps, cosy residence — "The Hacienda" — and 
high protecting stone wall, grim relic of revolutionary days, 
Triunfo boasts a rakish looking church, intended, primarily 
as a stable for the racing stud of a sporting mine superin- 
tendent. I spent two enjoyable days at Triunfo and the 
neighboring pueblo of San Antonio Real. Not being techni- 
cally versed in mining, however, I was more interested in 
the remarkable precociousness of the superintendent's baby 
daughter than in the completeness of the noisy mills. Ulti- 
mately the little toddler, climbing into a small engine used 
to haul ore cars, signified her intention of taking us "for a 
long ride, fast'r than burro." 



242 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

The ancient village of San Antonio Real lies deep down 
in a canon a league to the southwest of Triunfo. Here, 
early in the eighteenth century, was begun the first mining, 
so far as is known, ever done in the Californias. In the 
still more distant days of Sir Francis Drake and Sir Thomas 
Cavendish — the merry English rover who sailed blithely up 
the Thames with plundered silk spread forth for sails — 
doughty buccaneers were wont to harbor at Ventana Bay, a 
few leagues distant, eastward from the pueblo site. How 
imperiously the old sea gallants must have strutted about in 
their flapping jack-boots; how their sharp eyes must have 
glittered as their swift barks swooped down upon some luck- 
less and richly laden Manila galleon! Even during the 
nineteenth century, southern corsairs, prowling Inland from 
Ventana Bay, rifled the old stone mission chapel at San An- 
tonio of its ancient golden altar ornaments and long strings 
of pearls. 

Making the trip on horseback, I visited San Antonio Real 
in company with a genial young giant, Hughes by name, a 
veteran of the Philippine War. We returned to Triunfo 
by a steep road which opend about us a magnificent view of 
the Cacachllas. These sierras, sharp and rugged in their 
outline, attain a maximum height of 4,700 feet. On our 
arrival at "The Hacienda" we found Mrs. Nahl, my class- 
mate's wife, in the garden with a college flag. 

"Let us rejoice In our colors, gathering together the 
alumni," she laughingly exclaimed. 

"Everywhere the American collegian," answered Hughes, 
responsively. "Think of four of us with the same Alma 
Mater being down here under the Southern Cross! Why, 
if the Pole Is ever discovered and an Ice fence built about it, 
there'll be a bunch of collegians sitting on the top rail in no 
time, a-smoking away as cool as you please." 

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LA PAZ AND SOME OTHER PUEBLOS 243 

Nahl, who had joined us. "My predecessor, also, came 
from Berkeley; Brookes, first manager of these mines, had 
a son who went to New Haven, becoming Yale's fleetest 
Mott Haven sprinter. We must certainly have a picture 
here under the bananas." 

The ensuing day I returned to La Paz. Before visiting 
Triunfo I had paid my mozos the amount due them, where- 
upon Praemundi had immediately hied himself to a cantino, 
or drinking saloon. In appreciation of his marvelous pe- 
destrianism, I had also presented him with Vapor. The 
other burro I had necessarily sold, though parting with 
plucky Cabrillo had proven a truly sharp wrench. Now 
Praemundi appeared before me in a state of cheerful In- 
ebriation, begging for a written ratification of my gift. He 
was penniless. Indeed, between liquor and thieving com- 
panions his first twenty-four hours in La Paz had cost him 
forty dollars. Without giving thought to his purpose, I 
gave him the desired formal bill to Vapor; possessed of this 
instrument, he sold the faithful animal forthwith, then pro- 
ceeded to spend the proceeds, his entire worldly capital, 
for more mescal. 

So much for the sober burros and their unfortunate 
packer. Jesus, for his part, had blossomed out in new ap- 
parel from head to foot. Indeed, though I had at no time 
given especial thought to his looks, I now laughingly realized 
that my youthful mozo was a handsome young dandy. 

That evening four of us — two Americans, an Englishman 
and a German — dined together at the hotel. As my com- 
panions were men of education and had spent years on the 
mainland, I listened with keen interest to their expressions 
concerning the vulnerable characteristics of the natives. 
Crystallized, their opinions were that the Mexican lacks 
appreciation, is improvident, a hard bargainer and unre- 
liable. At the same time they were in accord in admitting 



244 CAMP AND CAM I NO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

that these traits might be subdued by a continuation of the 
present enlightened and progressive administration of gov- 
ernment. In reaching their conclusions they eliminated the 
higher classes from their reckonings and referred to the 
brief period in which education has been within general 
reach and to the comparatively recent cessation of succes- 
sive civil wars as extenuating circumstances to be con- 
sidered. 

After supper, to enjoy the twilight, we sought a balcony, 
overlooking the Bay. "See those couples, trios and quar- 
tettes of girls promenading up and down the long wharf," 
remarked the American, between puffs of his cigar. 

"Yes," I assented. "I've been admiring their graceful, 
easy carriage." 

"They belong to the Primera Clase of La Paz. It is a 
good object lesson for us Gringos to reflect on their freedom. 
In our country, in England, on the Continent a dozen men 
would obtrude upon such attractive, unescorted girls. Here 
no one would think of addressing them without a formal 
presentation." 

The German chuckled. "There's a man famine in local 
high circles," he remarked. "A dozen charming Seiioritas 
of the first class; only two eligible men — and of the two 
one is a woman-hating Judge, the other a stripling." 

"La Paz must occasionally produce men children of the 
same social class as these girls," I demurred. 

"Certainly," interjected the Englishman, "but they leave 
for the larger business fields of the mainland. These proud 
Seiioritas then await their return, preferring spinsterhood 
to accepting men socially in a lower strata." 

The following morning I embarked on the Curacao for 
San Francisco. Two leagues down the Bay of La Paz we 
passed the sheltered harbor of Pichilingue where Uncle 
Sam maintains a coal station with ten or twelve thousand 



LA PAZ AND SOME OTHER PUEBLOS 245 

tons of coal for his war ships. A fine, deep harbor, well 
sheltered by San Juan Nepomucino Island, it derives its 
name from having been a pirate cove in early days. Swing- 
ing off across the Gulf we visited Topolobampo, Mazatlan 
and other mainland ports, at each of which we took on Eng- 
lish and American mining and sugar people, most of them 
intent on looking after their northern bank accounts, for San 
Francisco is the Mecca and supply point for the entire west 
coast of Mexico. Recrossing the Gulf we cast anchor off 
San Jose del Cabo. 

Here, in company with a Scotch traveler, I landed on a 
freighter and visited the pueblo, a mile inland. As we found 
two rentable mules, the distance was easily covered. San 
Jose del Cabo is a charming and picturesque pueblo, with 
the inevitable mission and plaza, many sky-blue, flat-roofed 
adobe residences, attractive gardens, rich soil, much running 
water, and every tropical and semi-tropical fruit conceiva- 
ble. It has a population of sixteen hundred and enjoys a 
wonderful climate. Leaving the town behind us, we rode 
through fields of sugar-cane toward Santa Anita, a garden 
spot, presumably the site of the early eighteenth century 
Jesuit Mission of San Jose. It is a frequent saying down 
the Peninsula that if a man stops a week at San Jose del 
Cabo he becomes a "lotus eater" and only ropes can haul 
him away. It certainly is a dreamy garden. The small 
boys who crowded about us demanding centavos were an 
evidence of foreign visitors for, at Rosario, when I had of- 
fered to toss pennies for several small children who had 
showed me the mission ruins, the youngsters had no idea of 
the meaning of a penny scramble, seeming well content to 
hold my hand and walk beside me. 

Leaving San Jose del Cabo and rounding Cabo San Lucas, 
we bore away toward San Francisco, 1,160 miles distant. At 
Magdalena Bay we made a brief halt; at Ensenada we spent 



246 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

a day; and then we steamed northward toward the Golden 
Gate. 

And now, before proceeding any further with my adven- 
tures, let me accord a full chapter to the strange story of that 
superb harbor, Magdalena Bay. 





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At anchor off San Jose del Cabo 



CHAPTER XIX 

THE STORY OF MAGDALENA BAY* 

TO an American looking forward to the completion of 
the Isthmian Canal, the location of Magdalena Bay 
is startlingly strategic. Indenting the southwest 
coast of the California Peninsula, distant a full thousand 
nautical miles from San Francisco on the north and over 
twice that distance from Panama on the southeast, this in- 
frequently considered port is the only great anchorage be- 
tween the Golden Gate and the Isthmus. To conceive of its 
vastness, picture a landlocked sheet of water fifteen miles in 
length and over twelve in breadth ! But even then the con- 
ception is incomplete, for the actual length of the roadstead 
is nearer forty miles than fifteen, although points reaching 
shorewards from the adjacent Island of Santa Margarita, a 
long, narrow strip of land, barren and of volcanic origin, 
divide this mighty stretch of water into two bays of which 
only the northerly one is properly referred to as Magdalena 
Bay, the southerly division being usually called Almaca, or 
Almejas, Bay. The old-time whalers termed these divisions 
Weather and Lee Bays. 

The formation of Magdelena Bay Is peculiar. From the 
peninsula coast at the north headlands jut out into the sea ; 
at the west a long narrow strip of land, sometimes called 
Man-of-War Island, parallels the inequalities of the shore 
line, while to the south and southwest lies the Island of Santa 
Margarita. By practically hemming in a portion of the 

* Reproduced, in part, from "Sunset Magazine," March, 1908. 

247 



248 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

sea these successive lands form the harbor, for Magdalena 
Bay does not deeply indent the coast. As these protective 
girders are lofty enough to shelter the harbor from gales, 
they served in older days to conceal buccaneers and smug- 
gling craft from chance ships of the Crown. The formal 
gateway to the ocean lies betwen the northern extremity of 
Santa Margarita Island and Punta Entrada, the southern- 
most point of the so-called Man-of-War Island. There are 
additional passages, however, for lagoons, fringed with 
mangrove shrubs, run northward finally opening into the 
Pacific — others extend inland — while to the south there is 
easy egress through Almaca Bay. 

Pictured in an earlier chapter, the country inland from 
Magdalena Bay is desolate in the extreme. First, reaching 
from the shore eastward for twenty miles, comes a barren, 
undulating waste of sand and cactus. Next the plains sweep 
inland with an upward swell for another twenty miles, finally 
wedding with the hills and plains which stretch down from 
the eastern cordillera of the Peninsula. Save for the mes- 
quite, which line the broad, shallow arroyos — occasional 
scars on the interminable desert — the face of the country is 
veiled entirely with cacti. It is not a pleasant region. The 
ground is parched. The days are stifling hot. Great waves 
of fog roll in during the nights, effectually shrouding the 
country in the mornings. Until he has proceeded inland 
from one hundred and seventy-five to two hundred and sev- 
enty-five miles from the bay, the chance wayfarer need have 
no thought of finding the fertile district along which, strung 
out in the form of a crescent, lies the historic mission sites 
of Todos Santos, La Paz, Dolores del Sur, San Xavier, 
Comondu and Purisima. 

The history of Magdalena Bay, a story never yet knit to- 
gether. Is dashed with the wild flavor of the romance of 
centuries. Its theme is ever thirst, thirst. First visited by 



THE STORY OF MAGDALENA BAY 249 

Europeans in the days of Cortez, In various centuries the 
gathering place of voyagers from the Spanish Main, gal- 
leons from the Philippines, buccaneers from England and 
the Netherlands, American filibusters and whalers from a 
dozen ports, less than forty years ago the favored property 
of a powerful New York syndicate presided over by General 
John A. Logan and financed by Belmont and Jerome, to-day 
the magnificent harbor looks out upon desolate shores un- 
known to the world. With few shoals, sheltered from gales, 
this noble expanse of water, spacious enough to accommo- 
date the navies of all nations and be heedless of their pres- 
ence, this grim bay of the southwest nevertheless counts an 
incoming sail an event. The explanation Is thirst, thirst. 
For every man who has ever visited the shores of this su- 
perb. Ill-starred bay has felt the want of water, water. 

First came Francisco de Ulloa, a resolute Spanish ad- 
miral outfitted by Cortez. In serious search for the rich 
pearl island of Ciguatan where charming Amazons were 
supposed to live in sovereign state, de Ulloa coasted along 
the shores of peninsula California, discovering successively 
the Colorado River and Magdalena Bay. To the port he 
came at Christmas time In the year 1539, but though he fell 
a-foul of warlike savages he could get no sight of pearl- 
bedecked Amazons or of living springs of water. And for 
lack of the last he mourned the deepest. 

In the wake of de Ulloa sailed Juan Cabrlllo. In his 
ship's log, under date of July 18, 1542, appears this early 
notice concerning Magdalena Bay, "this is a good port and 
it is sheltered from west winds; but it has not water or 
wood." Later came the restless pilot Viscalno. But he, 
too, found little water. "They could get no intelligence of 
any water," wrote his chronicler, "except In a cavity among 
the rocks, and what they had there was excessively bad." 

After Viscaino's visit occasional Spanish galleons, Isth- 



250 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

mus bound from the Philippines, sought the shelter of the 
great harbor, and graceless Dutch and English buccaneers 
followed close at their heels. In the sands southward to- 
ward Cape San Lucas lie buried the surplus riches of many 
a ravished treasure ship. 

Thus passed the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In 
the eighteenth the fearless Jesuit padres sought a mission site 
overlooking Magdalena Bay. But even these intrepid ex* 
plorers retreated from its thirsty shores, content, perforce, 
with the foundation of San Luis Gonzaga, nigh fifty miles 
inland and the nearest of the links of their extensive mission 
chain. 

Finally with the opening of the nineteenth century, the 
bay region experienced surprising prosperity In consequence 
of becoming the center of an active smuggling trade between 
the dwellers by the missions and voyagers from Europe and 
the United States. This free trade was the outgrowth of a 
commercial embargo enacted by Spain during the Na- 
poleonic wars. With mules and donkeys laden with hides, 
occasional furs and pearls, fruits and honey, the natives 
wended their way from the missions toward Magdalena 
Bay. In the lagoons they would find expectant sailors await- 
ing them with long boats freighted with woven stuffs, trink- 
ets and the like, acceptable articles for exchange. It was a 
thirsty business. The Callfornians prepared for It by bring- 
ing with them well filled leather water-bottles, while the 
sailors supplied themselves with an Inferior quality of the 
liquid by sinking barrels In the sand, then stoving In the bar- 
rel heads and waiting for the seepage. The proceedings 
were enlivened by cordial exchange of native mescal and 
ship's grog. 

For a third of a century this contraband trade flourished 
to the great joy of the natives and the Immense advantage of 
shipping houses engaged In Pacific commerce. Finally, 



THE STORY OF MAGDALENA BAY 251 

with the diversion of the famous Pious Fund, and the 
achievement of Mexican independence and the passage of 
the Secularization Acts, came the decadence of the missions 
and the consequent ending of the halycon days of the Mag- 
dalena Bay contrabandistas. 

But visitors of higher repute began shortly to frequent 
the great harbor, for nations were not blind to its possible 
strategic importance. In the late thirties and early forties 
Admiral Du Petit-Thouars, Captain Sir Edward Belcher 
and Captain Kellett successively investigated Magdalena 
Bay. They reported it accursed by thirst. 

Shortly before the middle of the nineteenth century the 
bay region experienced Its second period of prosperity for a 
veritable fleet of whalers, sealers and guano gatherers made 
it the center of their operations. New England whalers, 
alone, were soon coining over a quarter of a million dollars 
annually, from whales taken along the shores of the Penin- 
sula. Magdalena Bay rejoiced in the doubtful honor of 
being the favorite spot for "trying out" the oil. 

In the midst of these doings came the Mexican War. 
This was In 1847-48. Upon its outbreak Commodore Sel- 
frldge landed a body of marines and two companies of New 
York volunteers at La Paz, one hundred and seventy miles 
to the southeast of the great harbor. Late In 1848 these 
troops were withdrawn. 

Five years later Filibuster Walker anchored with his bark 
the Caroline, in Magdalena Bay; subsequently he passed the 
same harbor while en route to Nicaragua and the culmina- 
tion of his career. 

Undisturbed by these various historic events the whalers 
and sealers continued to make the bay their general head- 
quarters. But, despite Its remoteness even this region was 
destined to become a pawn In the political game. The first 
move was made In the early sixties, when General Juarez, 



252 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

hard pressed by Maximilian, shrewdly conveyed to an Amer- 
ican syndicate a large slice of Lower California territory, 
including the section about Magdalena Bay. In 1867 the 
syndicate engaged the late J. Ross Browne to examine its 
bargain. 

In the course of his work Browne made this entry in his 
journal: "Proceeding close along the shore of Magdalena 
Bay some two or three miles toward the heads, we came to 
a plateau or mesa, apparently formed by nature as the site 
for a town. The extent of the mesa is about two miles in 
depth by three in width. Probably a better point could not 
be selected for a naval depot." 

But though impressed by the magnificence of the bay and 
its availability for naval purposes and charmed by the salu- 
brity of its climate, Browne reported adversely as to adapta- 
bility of the adjacent lands for agricultural purposes. 
"Until within two weeks of our visit," he wrote, "it was said 
by one person near the bay that rain had not visited this re- 
gion for fourteen years." Thirst, thirst, always thirst! 

However, August Belmont, Leonard W. Jerome, Ben 
Butler, Wm. G. Fargo, Ben Holladay, Caleb Cushing, John 
A. Garland and John A. Logan, the active spirits of the 
syndicate, were not men of a type to be deterred by a mere 
report. Accordingly Baron Philippe de Rougemont, a 
noted French engineer, was engaged to map and survey the 
country about Magdalena Bay while a large party of pio- 
neers were sent into the interior to dig wells, build roads and 
clear the ground. By May, 1871, it was reported that 
there were five hundred settlers located about Browne's 
"town-site." But these newcomers were oppressed by their 
surroundings, the fear of thirst came upon them and they 
fled the country. 

Meantime the Mexican government had annulled the 
grant and Its ofl'iclals had pounced upon the colony, dispos- 




PQ 



THE STORY OF MAGDALENA BAY 253 

sessing its local agent. These latter proceedings caused the 
U. S. S. Saranac to hasten to the rescue. By this time Gen- 
eral Butler, who had become president of the syndicate, be- 
gan complaining after his own peculiar fashion. So alarm- 
ing was his roar that the Mexican government offered a com- 
promise by which, as a salve to his injured feelings, the syn- 
dicate was accorded the privilege of gathering orchilla for a 
period of six years. This orchilla is a lichen which grows 
on the stems and branches of the shrubs and cacti along the 
coast of the Magdalena Bay region. In appearance it re- 
sembles drooping tufts of gray moss. Dyes of valuable 
properties are produced from orchilla. 

In 1874, and prior to the expiration of the Butler exten- 
sion, there appeared In Magdalena Bay the U. S. S. Narra- 
gansett, a vessel engaged in the survey of the west coast of 
Mexico. This important undertaking had been confided to 
the commander of the Narragansett, a quiet young naval 
officer by the name of George Dewey. According to the 
1880 report of the U. S. Hydrographic Office, compiled 
from data gathered by Commander Dewey, it would appear 
that the American Jackies found the water problem at Mag- 
dalena Bay as vexing as it was in the days of the Spanish 
navigators. Says this report: 

"In the summer season the only regular supply of fresh 
water is obtained about 40 miles from the bay, near one of 
the northern lagoons. Small vessels make regular trips for 
the express purpose of bringing it to the settlement. . . . 
At the time of the Narragansett' s visit there were about ten 
houses near the beach on the west side of Man-of-War 
Cove, one of which was used as a Custom House and the 
others chiefly occupied by men engaged in collecting and 
shipping orchilla. . . Magdalena Bay Is one of the 
most spacious and safe harbors in the world." 

A decade after the visit of these naval surveyors, a Call- 



;254 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

fornia company secured a grant of land adjoining the bay. 
Probably to their own surprise as much as any one's, these 
new speculators made a fortune from the concession. This 
came through unusually large crops of orchilla which 
brought to the bay region a third period of prosperity. 
Subsequently the concessionists transferred to a Boston and 
New York syndicate the Magdalena Bay grant which may 
be described as a four million acre farm embracing a belt 
of land reaching fourteen miles inland from the bay and 
extending along the coast north and south some hundreds of 
miles. Though this grantee, at least in 1906, gave small 
heed to orchilla, it developed a fine well at Matancita, with 
a cistern and a steam pump capable of supplying many thou- 
sand gallons per day. Matancita, the local headquarters of 
this immense rancho, lies immediately to the north of one 
of the northern lagoons. 

Though these commercial matters have been mere inci- 
dents to Magdalena Bay, bringing with them no steady rush 
of settlers, they have had their immediate bearing on recent 
events. Commander Dewey, become an Admiral, was 
thoroughly conversant with the entire west coast of Mexico ; 
he knew that with abundant water at Matancita Magdalena 
Bay was useful. Presently, therefore, through the courtesy 
of Mexico, the United States was accorded the privilege of 
sending her men-of-war to the great harbor for target prac- 
tice. Since then, at periodic intervals, the resplendent 
fighting machines of the White Navy have glided into Mag- 
dalena Bay, their grim cannon breaking the calm of the 
silent waters and rousing the echoes above the rugged shore. 
Thus again the bay has awakened to such life as it had not 
known since the passing of the contrahand'istas and whalers ; 
only now it is a less continuous and more superb manner of 
living. 

Though the modern visitor to this ancient harbor is im- 



THE STORY OF MAGDALENA BAY 255 

pressed by the magnificent expanse of its waters, the clear- 
ness of the atmosphere and the absence of commerce, he 
finds its shores practically deserted. The only settlement is 
at Man-of-War Cove where there are some seventy-five 
Mexicans, a handful of them port officials, the others en- 
gaged in turtle fishing and the gathering of abalone shells. 
Immediately inland there are no residents, except the local 
manager of the American grant with his vaqueros and their 
families, forming the small cluster of houses at Ma- 
tancita. 

Magdalena Bay has little inland intercourse. In fact the 
region is not rich in roads. From Matancita trails run 
north to the beautiful valley of prosperous Comondu, and 
south to the gardens of Todos Santos and thence to La Paz 
or San Jose del Cabo. But on these caminos there are 
stretches where water-holes are forty miles apart. San 
Luis, to the east, is the junction of many of these trails, 
relics of mission days, which wind through the sierras and 
across the plains with springs or water-holes every twenty 
miles or so. Corrals and shacks of rancheros mark these 
oases. 

Despite their impoverishment the rancheros are an hos- 
pitable, kindly people. But though careless of the mountain 
lions that deplete their flocks, and heedless of rattlesnakes 
and tarantulas, they have an inherent dread of the Plains 
of Magdalena. "The shores of the great bay are accursed 
by God," they say, "and therefore many men have died in 
the region after the Devil's favorite fashion of taking them 
off, and that is by thirst, thirst, thirst." 

I believe this dread Is contagious. And yet, after ascer- 
taining what slight labor has sufficed to develop the verdant 
huertas, or gardens and orchards, at Matancita and about 
the wells on Don Benigno's Hacienda, the traveler is 
disposed to conclude that the curse might have been lifted 



256 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

these many moons, except for the glaring lack of system and 
energy which seems to have characterized the various 
schemes to develop the Magdalena Bay region. 



Part III 
LA FRONTERA AGAIN 



CHAPTER XX 

A FRONTIER BALL AND AGAIN THE SIERRAS 

EARLY In July I was again in Ensenada, having had, 
in the meantime, a glimpse of San Francisco. En- 
senada is a rather recent American-Mexican-English 
built town with a population of fifteen hundred, a delightful 
climate and a beautiful situation above the curved white 
beach of Todos Santos Bay. It Is at once the headquarters 
of an English colonization company and the seat of govern- 
ment of the Northern District of Lower California. Six 
months earlier, on Christmas evening, just before entering 
the country of the Catarlna Yumas, Juan, my two Ameri- 
can friends and I had reached the town in time for a late 
and well appreciated dinner at the foreign hotel. We had 
at that time come overland from TIa Juana. The next day 
I had observed two usual signs of English occupation, golf 
links — rather neglected — and a portable tub ! 

After leaving Magdalena Bay in the Curacao, I had 
visited Ensenada a second time and been Introduced to the 
"Governor" of the District, Sr. Coronel Celsa Vega, a 
courteous, well groomed, rather good looking individual. 
Now, in July, my list of local acquaintances was extended to 
the Post Master, to Sr. Luis Fernandez, of the Customs 
House, and his associate, the Collector, to Sr. Oymart, a 
most obliging local merchant, and to various other gentle- 
men. Without exception they showed me most generous 
consideration. 

Indeed, whatever his shortcomings, the civility of the 

259 



26o CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

average Mexican is superb. He inherits it from his Span- 
ish forefathers, he acquires it at his mother's knee, he learns 
it at school. In January, Eloisa, the pretty child of the 
Sefior of San Vicente, showed me her Mexican primer and 
this was the first lesson therein : "Albert's mamma gave Al- 
bert a piece of cake. Albert, greedy boy, without a word 
began eating the cake. Albert's mamma took the cake 
away and gave it to the cat. The cat said 'Meow, meow' 
(Thank you, thank you.) Albert's mamma thereupon gave 
the cat a second piece of cake." 

With such training is it at all surprising that the Mexican 
is an individual of rare politeness? 

The evening of the ninth of July, after bidding my new 
acquaintances good-bye, I returned to the St. Denis, a small 
coasting steamer on which I had come to Ensenada, and the 
anchor hoisted, we turned southward. The following after- 
noon I disembarked at San Quintin, possessed of vividly 
amusing recollections of previous adventures in the little 
pueblo — and with liberal expectancies of additional experi- 
ences to be had. I was not disappointed. After dispatch- 
ing a messenger southward for my former mozo, Timoteo, 
and for the now recuperated Pedro Ximenez — having given 
out months before, he had been left at Rosario — I took 
notice of the people about me. 

Some fifteen or sixteen men had landed from the steamer, 
two of them being accompanied by their wives, plucky, un- 
obtrusive women. The entire company seemed interested 
in mining, either as promoters or investors. For the most 
part they were wide-awake Americans, with just a leavening 
of well-bred young Englishmen. Immediately after our 
landing, activities focussed about a frame building, part 
Customs House, part hotel and altogether the largest struc- 
ture in San Quintin. Here I again met Sr. Victoria, now in 
charge of the Customs, here I found two hustling, agreeable 



I 



A FRONTIER BALL AND AGAIN THE SIERRAS 261 

Americans, sometime whalers and, according to ever uncer- 
tain rumor, smugglers as well, now peaceful storekeepers 
and proprietors of the hotel. 

But the first individuals that I especially noted, as I grew 
observant, were two swarthy fellows with the treading-high 
air of those homeward bound and well pleased thereat. I 
made their acquaintance forthwith. They were scientific 
men, just in from Cedros Island where they had been col- 
lecting for Harvard University and the John Thayer In- 
stitute. Until their departure, via the northward bound 
St. Denis on the 12th instant, we passed the time pleasantly, 
even enjoying several close bridge games with one of the 
Englishmen as fourth man. My attention was also early 
drawn toward an elderly, quiet-mannered wanderer. As 
he proved to be a miner just in from four months' prospect- 
ing on San Pedro Martir Sierra, whither I was bound, I 
questioned him freely. He was a kindly old hermit, ready 
to laugh heartily over the recollection of his chilly spring 
near the snow line and his panic in March when awakened 
by a severe earthquake. Of the general topography of the 
sierra he was frankly ignorant. In fact, though the store- 
keepers and several of the local residents had hunted or 
mined on its southern and western slopes none of them knew 
it as a whole. Moreover, as it was unsurveyed and un- 
charted, people who ventured upon it would surely get lost. 
So insistently did they make this declaration that my interest 
in the not infrequently visited Sierra was increased imme- 
diately. If there was a fair chance of getting lost in such 
a region of game and water, I was anxious for my chance, 
for to be lost under such circumstances would surely be 
fascinating. 

On the St. Denis I had met an energetic, vivacious pro- 
moter, Brown by name, a man long associated with the 
Northern District, and one whose very vitality made him 



262 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

interesting. Through his initiative, keenly seconded by one 
of the proprietors of the store, a baile grande, or grand ball, 
was given the evening of the loth. The scene of the func- 
tion was the hotel dining-room. At San Ignacio and other 
southerly pueblos I had attended hailes, but this one was a 
more cosmopolitan affair, not unlike an American frontier 
social event. The dancers consisted of eight Seiioritas, two 
American women, wives of San Francisco "refugees" 
stranded. Heaven knows how, at San Quintin; a dozen 
American and English mining men, five Mexicans, the scien- 
tists and myself. A wheezy phonograph provided music, 
while beer and mescal were on hand for the thirsty. A na- 
tive audience of mothers and babies, grandmothers and lit- 
tle children, sat on chairs and benches close against the wall 
and in blissful content silently enjoyed the succeeding hours. 
The women dancers were dressed in simple, attractive 
gowns, but the English and American men were laughable 
to behold. A stocky, middle-aged mine owner, wearing 
great goggles over his small, near-sighted eyes, presented 
himself attired in a black frock coat, very baggy khaki rid- 
ing bags, gaiters — and no stockings! Two of the English- 
men wore dark green puttees, swathed close about their 
bulging calves, while three of us Americans appeared in rid- 
ing clothes with leather leggins and heavy shoes. It was a 
bizarre scene. Here a handsome young mining engineer glid- 
ing over the floor with a swaying, graceful little muchaha, 
his thoughts perhaps harking back to some collegiate cotil- 
lon; there an erect young Britisher, with Oxford yet fresh 
in mind, soberly footing the mazes of a rollicking waltz 
and primly holding at arm's length a brown little muchacha, 
all a-fire with the excitement of her first haile grande; here a 
sturdy American miner galloping with a swarthy Sefiorita, 
her flashing eyes and striking features betokening Apache 
ancestry; there a Harvard scientist, bravely seeking to de- 



A FRONTIER BALL AND AGAIN THE SIERRAS 263] 

spoil a native dandy of half a dance. One of the American 
refugees and three of the little Sefioritas — mere girls of 
fourteen — were really excellent dancers, far and away above 
the others, and for their favors there sprang up a gay rivalry 
between a young English mine owner, an American mining 
expert, one of the scientists and myself. Furthermore, each 
of the little Sefioritas had a particular native cavalier, vainly 
claiming monopoly and effervescing with frenzied jealousy 
at sight of our attentions. 

At midnight heaping baskets of cascarones (blown eggs, 
stuffed with many colored confetti) suddenly and myster- 
iously appeared, and in an instant eggs were cracking on 
dark and fair heads alike and the room was a-glitter with a 
shower of brilliant confetti. In another hour some of the 
miners grew uproarious and in wild glee and with most un- 
certain aim began shying bottles at a serious beetle, leisurly 
intent on promenading across the ceiling. Even amid this 
excitement the shy little Sefioritas would venture upon no 
more extensive conversation than "Si, Sehor," or ''No, 
Sehor." By two A. M. the men were growing weary. 
Three of us, however, doffing our coats heroically kept on. 
An hour later a thoughtful miner jammed a mescal bottle in 
the phonograph. That ended the haile grande. 

For two days thereafter San Quintin was agog with the 
bustle of departing outfits. Then, with much shouting of 
mozos and sharp tinkling of bells, a long line of riders and 
pack trains swung out upon El Camino Real en route for 
the southern mines, while the balance of the prospectors, 
under the leadership of Brown, embarked on a schooner 
bound for Cedros Island. Meantime the St. Denis had de- 
parted for the north, leaving San Quintin to slumber once 
again and Its hungry hordes of accursed fleas to devote their 
exclusive attention to me. Fortunately for my peace, my 
temper and my soul, I had an invitation from one of the out- 



264 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

ward bound passengers* to visit his mines at Valledaras on 
the west slope of San Pedro Martir Sierra. Accordingly, 
goaded to desperation by the greedy tormenters, I hastily 
loaded my camp equipage and supplies on the Valledaras 
four-mule freighter and upon the arrival of Timoteo, the 
two of us climbed up beside the Indian driver, thankful to 
escape from San Quintin without further delay. At the 
same time mounting a Mexican boy on Pedro, I dispatched 
him northward with instructions to secure five burros at the 
Rancho of San Antonio del Mar, where my faithful Ca- 
brillo had been reared, and to bring them to Valledaras. 

The first evening out, after having covered twenty-one 
miles, we made camp beside a stream near the Dominican 
Mission of Santo Domingo. As two of their friars resided 
here as late as 1854, this establishment may be regarded as 
the last stronghold of the Dominicans in Lower California. 
Moreover, as the ruins even yet boast standing walls and 
one room intact, Santo Domingo may be looked upon as the 
best preserved of the Dominican foundations on the Penin- 
sula. An Indian showed me the contents of the one room; 
some candle-sticks, figures of Our Lady, of Santo Domingo 
— quite a dandy — of San Rafael, of San Antonio and of 
San Pedro Martir. This last Image had suffered special 
martyrdom of its own, having been pierced by a rifle ball. 
In the earliest days of Santo Domingo Mission, the worthy 
friars said Mass in the caves of a lofty red cliff, a mile be- 
low the mission site, and this cliff the natives still refer to as 
the Old Mission. 

Almost in the shadow of this Mision Viejo there is a 
pretty flower- and vine-clad cottage, surrounded by orange 
trees. Here two elderly Canadians, a brother and widowed 
sister, make their peaceful home. As this gentle couple 
had shown me extreme kindness In February, I now called 

* The lamented C. J. Young, since then foully murdered. 



A FRONTIER BALL AND AGAIN THE SIERRAS 265 

to express my appreciation, telling them that I had not for- 
gotten their homelike attentions given at a time when I was 
sick and dispirited. Vigorous in the aggressive health of 
continued outdoor life, I was distressed to find the sister's 
daughter suffering with erysipelas. Concerning the gravity 
of her misfortune — there was no physician to be had — the 
young invalid was silent. She made eager inquiries, how- 
ever, about various portions of the Southern District and 
then spoke with sweet enthusiasm concerning her "neigh- 
bor," an American born girl residing at San Antonio del 
Mar, forty-five miles to the north. 

"In January you visited San Antonio del Mar and Miss 
Bertie was then at Socorro," said she. "Now you are 
going to Socorro and she Is down by the sea. It's a shame !" 

"It is too bad," I replied, smiling at her ardor. "She 
must be a marvelous young woman to win the praise that 
natives and foreigners alike lavish upon her very name." 

"You must not laugh," said the Invalid, In a hurt tone. 
"She's the most Interesting personality In all this country- 
side — and yet I can't describe her. Though she has lived 
in these wilds since babyhood, she has the gentle traits you 
may find in the girls at home. And I must tell you about 
her pluck. Once during the absence of her men folks, she 
heard that some marauding Indians and Mexicans were 
about to make off with a bunch of her father's range 
cattle. Without pausing for rest or giving thought to 
the risk, she rode for thirteen hours ; Indeed, using up two 
saddle horses, the range riding was so rough. She saved 
all the cattle. Another time she was in San Diego with her 
father. A man of considerable means, he coolly pointed out 
a magnificent eastern residence to her, saying, "Bertie, you 
girls mustn't remain Amazons. I think I'll buy that place 
for you." She knew that he might be in earnest. "Oh, 
you wouldn't make us live in a city," she cried. "Town life 



266 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

must be so crowded. Can't we always live In the sierras? 
There we can breathe." 

"Good for her," I cried, applauding. "I am converted, 
without even having seen your heroine." 

The ensuing day we passed the rancho of Camalu, camp- 
ing In the foothills at Burro Spring. Early the following 
morning we were awakened by a wild yell from our stal- 
wart Indian driver. A gopher had rubbed against the pow- 
erful chief's spear hand! The sixteenth found us up among 
the spurs of San Pedro Martir Sierra, where quail, coyotes 
and rabbits were plentiful, the air crisp and the nights dewy. 
The seventeenth we attained an elevation of over four thou- 
sand feet, then, with squeaking wheels and brakes and drag- 
ging chains, slid down Into a deep arroyo by the sheerest 
pitch I have ever heard termed a wagon grade. Crossing 
a clear, willow-bordered stream, we followed a good road 
which shortly brought us to the gold placers of Valledaras. 
Here, set in an amphitheater of the mountains, was a sway- 
ing field of green alfalfa, bordered by fine oaks, a water 
ditch, hydraulic rams, miners' cabins and picturesque Indian 
shacks. Well up among the mountain spurs, we were now 
at the end of the wagon road and in the very shadow of the 
heights of San Pedro Martir Sierra, the "Top of the Penin- 
sula." 



CHAPTER XXI. 

THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA* 

THE day after our arrival at Valledaras I rode north- 
ward through the sierras ten miles to a giant scoop 
amid the ridges where a water ditch, reservoirs, 
gold placers, adobes and miners' cabins stood out in sharp 
contrast against the unchanging olive green of the surround- 
ing chemise brush. This was Socorro, the mining property 
of an American family, the proprietors of Rancho San An- 
tonio del Mar. Certain of these good people I had met in 
January at their rancho, quickly recognizing in them the 
highest type of American frontiersmen and women. Now, 
with added pleasure, I made the acquaintance of the re- 
maining members of this sturdy family. Including a dark- 
eyed fine spirited young girl of barely twenty. This latter 
was "Miss Bertie." Possessed of quiet dignity and a certain 
(iirect manner quite in accord with the strong character writ- 
ten in her face, she seemed worthy of the characterization, 
given her by the invalid at Santo Domingo, of being "the 
most interesting personality in all the countryside." 

Twenty-four hours after my arrival at Socorro, Timoteo 
rode in from Valledaras with news that the Mexican boy, 
unsuccessful in his mission, had arrived with Pedro Ximenes. 

Accordingly, accepting four burros proffered by my 
kindly host, early the ensuing morning Timoteo and I re- 
turned with them to Valledaras where we loaded on our sup- 

* Republished, in part, from the Bulletin of the American Geographical 
Society for September, 1907. 

267 



268 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

plies. Then we traveled easterly until we arrived at the 
rancho of Santa Cruz. 

The real ascent of San Pedro Martir Sierra was now 
"before us. This was the 20th of July. Thereafter, and 
until the 13th of August, we traveled steadily up and down 
and about the craggy mountain. No chart or complete de- 
scription of this magnificent sierra has ever been published, 
a rather surprising circumstance in view of the fact that in 
recent years its inviting glades have become the most fre- 
quent goal for visitors to the interior of Lower California. 
Perhaps the very grandeur of the views off the eastern slope, 
defying description as they do, may, in part, explain this 
seeming neglect. 

San Pedro Martir Sierra is not an isolated peak, essen- 
tially distinct from the mountain chain of the Peninsula. On 
the contrary, it is a plateau section of that chain, a lofty 
region where the mighty back-bone of the Lower California 
Cordilleras have attained to their supreme height. Doubt- 
less some of the admirals of the brilliant Conquistador, Cor- 
tez, in their voyages up the Vermilion Sea in search of a 
Northwest Passage, were the first civilized men to behold 
the mighty mountain hulk, while Cabrillo, sailing northward 
along the Pacific coast, perhaps first studied its white out- 
lines from the west. In the year 1702, Padre Kino, the 
famous Jesuit explorer, made note in his journal of seeing 
the Sierra, and sixty-three years later Padre Link, the 
founder of San Borja Mission, came within a few leagues 
of its southern spurs. If I have read correctly one of the 
old chronicles of San Borja, he was only saved from death 
at the hands of a vast multitude of mountain Indians by the 
Intervention of a woman who, although she accompanied 
the savages, was decently clothed, of regal bearing and keen 
understanding. After founding his Lower California Mis- 
sion of San Fernando, good Padre Junipero Serra traveled 



5an Diego 



: A LI F O R N I A ^^^ J._ 

Cdlexicott jntfrrst's^s!^-' — jiio_^^ 
Campo --^ i^exicali ^i^^^^'^~~^ I 



Yuma 
R 1 Z 




Crosses show route taken by author 

The uncharted Sierra of San Pedro Martir 



THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA 269 

around the southern and western spurs of the Sierra on his 
historic journey northward to San Diego and the field of 
his famed mission work in Upper California. Later Padre 
Cayetano Pallas established the Dominican Mission of San 
Pedro Martir de Verona on the southwestern crest of the 
Sierra and twelve leagues east of the Mission of Santo Do- 
mingo. Two years thereafter, in 1796, Lieutenant Gover- 
nor Arrilliga made an official visit to the new mission, only 
to find that the neophytes had fled in a body and were un- 
willing to return until a new Padre was conceded to them. 
So much for history. 

The trend of the California peninsula is southeast and 
northwest and so, also, is the trend of its greatest sierra. 
Approximating from the coast line charting of the little 
known territory, the geographical bounds of San Pedro 
Martir Sierra are as follows, viz.: at the north, 31° 5' lati- 
tude, north, and 115° 40' and 115° 5' longitude, west; at 
the south, 30° 25' latitude, north, and 115° 20' and 115° 
longitude, west. Out in long sweeps from the western crest 
of the Sierra, reach a series of rugged spurs, some of them 
only breaking against the shore line of the Pacific Ocean 
over fifty miles distant; to the east, with appalling sublim- 
ity, sheer precipices and sharp granite ridges bridge the im- 
mensity of space between the crest and the San Felipe Desert 
reaching back from the barren hills down against the Gulf; 
to the south the main ridge breaks, merging into hills only 
to rise again, later, in the vicinity of the heights of Matomi 
and San Juan de Dios. To the north, also, the sierra range 
lessens until at Valle Trinidad (Trinity Valley) it loses its 
identity. 

The main crest of the Sierra is approximately fifteen 
leagues In length by three and a half in breadth. This lofty 
area is occupied by grassy meadows, timber covered swales, 
cross ridges and picachos. There are perennial springs, 



270 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

cold streams, and at the meadow of La Grulla (the Crane) 
a small lake. The sierra is snow clad in winter and early 
spring, while summer thunder storms feed its hurrying 
streams. 

Beginning at the south and passing northward along the 
crest the successive meadows are known as Sant' Eulalia, 
Santa Rosa and Santo Tomas, El Mision or San Martir, 
La Grulla, UEncentata (the Enchanted, so called on ac- 
count of the ease with which, owing to its secluded position, 
it seemingly eludes the traveler), and Vallecitos (Little 
Valley.) These meadows, each containing from one to 
two thousand acres of verdant plain, are connected by in- 
distinct and broken cattle trails which criss-cross the sierra. 

Scattered broadcast along the crest lie massive white and 
gray granite boulders, while here and there stately white 
granite picachos loom upward spurning haughtily the level 
of their surroundings. To the immediate north of L'Encen- 
tata three of these picachos, the Tres Palomas (Three 
Doves), are ranged side by side. Farther north a mighty 
peak. El Providencia (The Divinity, Providence) — also 
known as El Picacho Blanco (The White Peak) — rises high 
above the clouds, the jagged summit of all Baja California, 
the unchallenged retreat of lions and mountain sheep, the 
unsealed lookout of eagles and mighty condors. The glit- 
tering granite sides of this majestic peak glisten in the sun 
as though robed In purest snow and even from the banks of 
the Colorado, a hundred miles away, its jagged white pin- 
nacle juts boldly above the sky line. La Corona (The 
Crown), a high, timber-capped ridge to the southwest of 
El Provldencia, vies with the latter in height, attaining an 
altitude slightly in excess of ten thousand feet. A third, 
and almost equally lofty ridge, lies to the north of Corona 
and Is unnamed. A small, rock-bound meadow is concealed 
below the summit of this ridge and here the ruins of an old 



THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA 271 

shack with a stone foundation indicate the one-time retreat 
of a notorious gang of horse thieves who occupied the sierra 
some years ago, their operations extending from Baja Cali- 
fornia over into California and Sonora. 

Pines are a rarity on the peninsula. On the crest, how- 
ever, of San Pedro Martir — from a distance apparently a 
gigantic mass of barren white cliffs — spruce, cypress, tama- 
rack, fir, incense cedar, yellow pine and sugar pine, the pitch 
pine and the pine that bears the piiions beloved by the 
Indians, flourish and fearlessly invade the meadows and 
the granite ridges. About the streams the aspen and the 
willow, ferns and wild flowers cluster, forming cool enticing 
nooks, and yet the awful chasm which primeval forces 
gashed into the northern and western sides of the sierra, 
shaping courses for these same streams to rush down and 
lose themselves in the San Felipe Desert, are grim and for- 
bidding. 

In making an ascent of the sierra, either from Valledaras 
or Socorro, the traveler rises slowly for a league, then, with 
a sharp upward pitch, the trail zigzags nerve-racklngly sky- 
ward two or three thousand feet, winding In and out of the 
white granite boulders and cliffs and leaving behind the 
mines and the Mexican and Indian ranches of Santa Cruz, 
San Antonio, and San Isldro. Finally, mountain benches, 
six or seven thousand feet above the sea level are reached, 
pines and grass bound streams appear unexpectedly, the 
lower world becomes a vista of distant peaks — and the crest 
of San Pedro Martir Sierra Is attained. The traveler now 
finds himself In a new world, totally unlike the balance of 
Baja California, a world where he may wander at will; for 
condors and eagles, wild ducks, mountain quail, deer, wild 
cats, lions, coyotes, half wild horses and cattle — descendants 
of the herds of the Fralles — alone dwell on the crest. Dur- 
ing short periods native vaqueros occupy shacks at the mea- 



272 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

dows of Santo Tomas and La GruUa, but the crisp nights 
and mornings, most invigorating to northern blood, are Httle 
relished by the Mexicans. 

Throughout Lower California the deer are rapidly dis- 
appearing. On San Pedro Martir Sierra they will soon be 
a tradition; and yet, in the open forest glades, they add 
wonderfully to the charm. They are too easily killed, how- 
ever, to long survive professional hunters and amateur 
butchers. Until the middle of the nineteenth century large 
gray wolves roamed over the great sierra ; the last one seen 
was killed in 1903. In the early eighties a lone bear took 
up his temporary abode on the mountain crest, doubtless en- 
joying himself hugely, for the native hunters fled in dismay 
before his tracks, reporting that the Devil was at large on 
the Sierra. In even the most remote regions of the penin- 
sula bears are unknown. The mountain sheep is the best 
protected variety of game on San Pedro Martir Sierra. 
Among the barren crags along the well nigh Inaccessible 
eastern and southeastern sections of the sierra, numbers of 
these magnificent creatures live almost in undisturbed con- 
tent, lending an additional picturesqueness to the majestic 
scenery. 

In prehistoric times a race of people drew petroglyphs 
on cliffs in the deep canons about San Pedro Martir Sierra 
— and drew them where men of modern stature may not 
reach. They were succeeded by a tribe of Indians who were 
also of magnificent physique, for six feet Is but an ordinary 
height among the Kallwas, the descendants of these old- 
time red men. The Kallwas are stalwart, dark-skinned, 
people. They live In the rancherias of Arroyo Leon, 
Janook and San Antonio, small clusters of thatch and pole 
shacks situated upon the northern slope of the sierra and 
within easy journeying of the pinon trees. Mixed bloods 
from this tribe are found at many of the Mexican ranchos 



THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA 273 

north and west of the sierra. According to the old Jesuit 
Link, the Indians on the southern slopes of the mighty sierra 
that blocked his northern explorations lived in houses of 
wood, but he may have used "houses" relatively, referring 
merely to shacks. 

The Dominican Mission of San Pedro Martir de Verona 
was erected on rising ground at the northern edge of a well 
watered meadow. The walls are now nearly level with the 
ground. The buildings were of adobe, built around the 
usual court. They faced slightly east of south and covered 
a space eighty-five paces by fifty-seven, with entrances at the 
north and south. From the outline of the ruins there were 
apparently two small forts near the southwest corner of the 
mission, and a stock enclosure, with an area of eighty-five 
by twenty-nine paces, adjoined the walls at the north. There 
was also a defensive wall of some sort extending southeast- 
erly from the northeast corner of the main court. As I found 
pieces of old red tiling about the ruins, I assume that tile 
roofs were in use at San Pedro Martir Mission, although the 
Lower California establishments were usually roofed with 
cement and gravel, or with thatch. 

According to tradition, three-quarters of a century ago 
this mission suffered so frequently at the hands of the Kali- 
was that soldiers and armed Indian converts from the mis- 
sions of San Vicente and Santo Domingo were sent forth to 
subdue the troublesome ones. As the Indians all delighted 
in warfare and as each tribe considered the others its ene- 
mies, one may imagine the holy joy with which the Indian 
converts (?) entered upon the pursuit of the ''broncos. '^ Be- 
fore the dread firearms the latter eventually capitulated and, 
bound hand and foot, they were carried down from the 
mountain crest, tied behind their mounted conquerors. 
Later, the captives were put to work at the Missions of 
Santo Tomas, San Vicente and Santo Domingo, where lung 



274 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

infirmities shortly decimated their numbers. At this time 
brief visits to the crest of the sierra in search of piiions or 
venison mark the utmost extent of any Kaliwa's interest in 
the old haunts of his tribe. 

Written references to San Pedro Martir Sierra have been 
so rare during the past century that one might count them 
upon the fingers of one hand. In the "Historical Summary 
of Lower California History", written by the early Cali- 
fornia historian, A. S. Taylor, and brought out forty years 
ago by J. Ross Browne, a lone paragraph appeared concern- 
ing a lofty, snow covered peak lying between the Missions 
of San Fernando and Santa Catarina. In 1894, Mr. George 
Gould hunted mountain sheep along the northern spurs of 
the sierra and his experiences are recorded in a publication 
of the Boone and Crockett Club, brought forth in the nine- 
ties by Colonel Theodore Roosevelt. Eight years later, 
Mr. Edmund Heller, of the Field Columbian Museum of 
Chicago, collected mammals along the western half of the 
sierra and a report of his doings is on file in the archives of 
the museum. The ensuing account of San Pedro Martir 
Sierra, giving it an unwonted name, is quoted from the 
"West Coast of Mexico," prepared by the Hydrographic 
Office of the United States Navy from data furnished during 
the seventies by Commander George Dewey of the U. S, S. 
Narragansett. This book was published in 1880 and in 
subsequent reprints the same improper designation has been 
given the sierra; moreover, in consequence of this govern- 
mental error, recent French and Mexican writers have com- 
mitted the same blunder. 

"Calamahue Mountain," says the account, "sometimes 
called Santa Catalina Mountain, from the Mission of that 
name near its foot, lies 28^ miles S. 84 W. (W. by S. 34' 
mag.) from Point San Felipe. It has a whitish appearance 
with a jagged top, and is the highest mountain in Lower 



THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA 275 

California, having an elevation of 10,126 feet above the sea 
level, and can be seen in clear weather a distance of over 
100 miles. Strange as it may appear it was never set down 
on any chart until those of the Narragansett's survey, 
1873 to 1875, were published. Father Kino speaks of it, 
in 1702, as being covered with snow during the winter and 
spring. 

"There is said to be in the vicinity of Mount Calamahue, 
a large mountain lake, which feeds the various small streams 
that flow toward the Pacific coast. 

"The Cocupa Indians, who inhabit some parts of this 
region, report the existence of gold there, and they occa- 
sionally come to the Colorado River bringing nuggets of 
pure gold with them, which they trade off. They do not per- 
mit white men to enter that part of the country which they 
inhabit, and thus far have succeeded in keeping undisputed 
possession of their treasure, 

"The coast from San Felipe Point to the mouth of the 
Colorado River, a distance of about thirty miles, trends 
nearly due north." 

To my numerous inquiries made throughout Lower Cali- 
fornia concerning the mountain's name, San Pedro Martir 
Sierra has ever been the unfailing response. Survivors of 
the once numerous tribes of the Pais, Kaliwas, Santa Cata- 
rina Yumas and Cocupa Indians, who, from time imme- 
morial, have visited the mountain in war and for game, 
pihons or gold, invariably say that San Pedro Martir has 
been the sierra's title for a long, long time and that they 
have never known the names of Calamahue or Santa Cata- 
lina to be associated with it. In this the Mexican and for- 
eign residents concur. Moreover, the Mission of San Pedro 
"Martir de Verona was established upon the crest in the year 
1794, and this was full three years prior to the foundation 
of the Mission of Santa Catarina, or Catalina — which, by 
the way, is fifty miles to the north of and not "near the foot" 
of the mountain. Unquestionably the sierra derived its 
name from the Mission of San Pedro Martir. "Calamahue 



276 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

Mountain" is a misnomer, a name entirely without authority. 

In the days of the Frailes, as the Dominican Friars were 
termed by the Indians, mountain crest and mission were 
reached by four different caminos. The Sierra Camino 
Real passed directly through the mission grounds, coming 
in from A^ua Dulce, San Fernando and the Ranchos of San 
Juan de Dios and Rosarito at the south and continuing along 
the sierra crest and down its northern slope whence it crossed 
Valle Trinidad making straight for Santa Catarina Mission. 
A branch trail of the Gulfo Camino crossed a dozen leagues 
of arid hills and desert swale from the Bay of San Felipe 
to the mouth of the Santa Rosa Arroyo, thence by an ascent 
rapidly increasing in dizziness, bore upward to the crest 
whence it wore along nearly due west to the mission. A 
third trail — and an excellent one — approached the mission 
from the west, heading at Santo Domingo Mission, down 
on the Pacifico Camino. 

By this last trail Timoteo and I reached the mountain 
crest on the 25th of July. From the mission ruins — in recent 
years even the ghostly walls were put through the gold pans 
of treasure hunters vainly searching for the traditional 
buried wealth of the Frailes — we crossed and criss-crossed 
the crest, following old trails which invariably died out and 
left us to the guidance of my compass. Finally, the mag- 
netic needle was put out of commission by a fall which I 
had. Thereafter we roamed at will. But while this method 
of traveling was giving me an absolute familiarity with the 
sierra, it was wearing upon the nerves of my mozo. I had 
engaged him not only because he was a good packer but 
more especially because he was a good packer who had never 
been on the San Pedro Martir Sierra, for to my mind when 
one really wishes to explore any section of country the or- 
dinary guide is an abomination, being ever ready to cook 
up most alarming stories in opposition to any route other 



THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA 277 

than the cut and dried one with which he chances to be 
familiar. On the evening of the 29th of July, we made 
camp in a particularly eerie gorge and my man lost his nerve. 

"Seiior, where are we?" he asked, in trepidation. 

"On top of San Pedro Martir Sierra." 

This simple response failed to calm him. "Senor, are not 
you afraid?" 

I laughed. "What is there to fear?" And as elements 
of security I pointed successively to my fire-arms, the provi- 
sion packs, two freshly killed deer, my outfit and the clear 
stream flowing not ten feet away. 

"We are alone, Senor, in a wild place which neither of 
us has ever before seen!" 

Had I told him that these very elements doubled 
the interest of our camp, he would not have understood me. 
I therefore asked, "Do you not know that until our time 
comes, nothing can injure us ? that when it comes there will 
be no escape? that there is only one death?" 

The Mexican pondered a moment over this fatalistic 
view that is so quieting for those who venture into danger- 
ous places. Then, as a lion screeched inanely in the crags 
above, he made response, "Senor, that may be well for a 
single man. I have a family to consider." 

Certainly there Is an uncalled for dread of the recesses 
of San Pedro Martir Sierra, and with equal certainty the 
proper companion for the mountains Is hard to find. Fi- 
nally, Timoteo expressed a willingness to travel about the 
Sierra, provided there was a third man In my party; but he 
would not follow me on my proposed trip across the deserts 
to the Colorado River. 

Two days later we left the crest by the Santa Cruz 
Camino, a steep but plain trail leading westward from La 
Grulla, and returned to Socorro. In vain, however, did I 
Inquire among the Mexicans and Indians about the mines 



278 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

for a mozo willing to cross the deserts to the Colorado. 
They did not know the way, they said; one man knew the 
route but considered such a trip in August certain death. 
Ultimately, when I stated my determination of continuing 
though I went alone, even the good Americans remon- 
strated, advising me to reconsider my course. 

Then upon the scene appeared the "Colonel." We had 
met in January at San Antonio del Mar. Of long locks 
and matted beard, sharp-eyed, slight, wiry and agile, part 
and parcel of his steed: such is my friend the "Colonel." 
An orphan early thrown on the world, he entered, at the 
age of twelve the Confederate Secret Service. As a Rebel 
spy, his sense of duty to his cause became so a part of his 
nature that deep contrition marked his confession to me 
'that, on one occasion, he had let slip a clear opportunity of 
bagging a Union cavalryman — merely because he feared, 
the trooper being a sister's husband, that the man's death 
might bring tears to her eyes ! The feeling that this un- 
sportsmanlike omission savored of treason and mawkish 
susceptibility still rankles in the mind of the Colonel; Indeed, 
as he naively explained, except for this most regrettable 
case of youthful weakness, he has always made a point of 
never allowing his sentiment to interfere with his shootings. 
The war over, he drifted to the cow trail in Texas; later, 
Indian fighting in Colorado claimed his attention; for a time, 
gambling at Deadwood enthralled him. Eventually, how- 
ever, the south and the west alike became too tranquil for 
a man accustomed to an active life and, in 1887, the Colonel 
crossed the Border. Though he carries over fifty years 
and has, at various times, gone down before pistol bullet 
or rolling mustang, his energy is unimpaired, as I early dis- 
covered when he held me even in a sprint after runaway 
burros, notwithstanding certain and numerous hours which 
I had devoted to the cinder path In the nineties. 



THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA 279 

My New Year's experiences with the Catarlnas had 
reached the Colonel's ears and he pined to be with me now 
that I had planned revisiting that predatory tribe. I did 
not deny him the pleasure. In fact, had there been occa- 
sion for urging, I would willingly have drawn upon my 
entire reserve of persuasion. 

*' it," he began, greeting my invitation with 

sulphurous sincerity, "if none of the Mexs 

and Indians '11 go with you, an' you're so Hell-fired set on 

goin', I'll make the trip. me, if I'll see 

a white man tackle a ride like that alone. 

An' from what I hear there's like to be somethin' doin' 
when we meet them Yumas." 

"Colonel," said I, warmly, "you're a gentleman." 

"An' no offense, but you're a fool, that's what 

you are, goin' onto them deserts in August. An' you're a 
man of my own kind. An' before we start, I'd appreciate 

your fixin' up my will for me for those deserts '11 be 

thirsty." 

That evening Lettie and Lollie, the youngest members of 
the pioneer family, besought me to write down for them the 
words of some song. To their delight I immediately gave 
them the lines : 

"I went to the animals' fair, 

"The birds and the beasts were there," etc., etc., 

the monkey refrain of which had served many times to put 
life into my depressed or wearied mozos. I then wrote out 
for them that classic, the "Spider Song," the one that runs 
thus: 

"Oh, the blooming, bloody spider went up the water spout, 
The blooming, bloody rain came down and washed the 
spider out, 



28o CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

The blooming, bloody sun came out and dried up all the 

rain, 
And the blooming, bloody spider came up the spout again." 

This so delighted LoUie that as a reciprocal favor she vol- 
unteered to visit certain old Indian friends of hers and ob- 
tain for me specimens of their songs. 

The following morning, reinforced by the Colonel and 
an American mining man from South America, Timoteo 
and I reascended the sierra by the Socorro Camino. This 
time we found camped at Vallecitos a plucky American 
woman, surrounded by her boys and girls. I invited one 
of the young fellows, a sturdy looking chap, keen for 
a good shoot, to accompany us to the Colorado, but either 
my rough appearance or the statement of his alarmed San 
Quintin guide ( ?) that the Cocupas would scalp us, caused 
him to decline. 

On this trip I completed my examination of the sources 
of the various immense canons that swing out from the sides 
of San Pedro Martir Sierra. Beginning at the southeast 
and continuing to the east these arroyos are known as Agua 
Caliente, Santa Rosa, Providencia and Arroyo Diablo — in 
its fearful majesty well earning this name; Arroyo Copal, 
Arroyo Esperancia and Arroyo San Mattias which trend 
northward; Arroyo Leon, Arroyo Weeks (Lizard), 
Arroyo San Rafael and Arroyo San Pedro take westerly 
courses, while Valledaras and San Antonio Arroyos at the 
west and southwest ultimately unite, forming Santo Do- 
mingo Arroyo, which empties Into the Pacific leagues dis- 
tant. San Antonio Arroyo, formed by the junction of the 
water courses from the old mission and from La Grulla — i 
which, at its headwaters, is called La Zanca (The Shank) 
— Is the one trout stream In Lower California. 

Well supplied with venison, we shortly returned to 
Socorro, following the Corona and Concepcion Caminos 



THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA 281 

that we might leave at the Concepcion Rancho a supply of 
fresh meat with a married sister of Miss Bertie. This 
energetic matron was busily looking after a ranch while her 
husband was managing a mine leagues distant. Except for 
her three little children and a faithful Mexican girl, she 
was alone and unprotected in the mountain wilderness. 

"Madam, are you not in continual fear?" I ventured. 

"I and my little people are in continual good health," she 
answered, amused at my amazed expression. Then, be- 
coming serious, she added, "I was born in the States. There 
1 would not have dared live so alone. Here, there are few 
wanderers and no tramps. The Indian and Mexican women 
consider me their friend — I give them medicines and treat 
them kindly. The men keep their distance. They know 
that my hound would notify me of their approach, and that 
I am armed. They realize that while father has taught my 
brothers to be slow in using arms mother has always cau- 
tioned us girls to shoot at the first provocation. Moreover, 
they know that even though they escaped my revolver, they 
could not escape such indefatigable trackers as my husband, 
my father, my brothers, the Colonel and my native friends 
who would follow them down and shoot them like dogs. 
No, here I am safe from insult." 

At Socorro I returned the borrowed burros and bought 
three in their places. These I named "Padre Hernando 
'Consag", after the great Jesuit explorer; "Gulllermo 
Walker", after the American filibuster, and "James O. 
Pattle," In honor of the early American trapper. Having 
approved of this christening, Lollie confided to me her store 
of original Indian philology which she had acquired from 
certain ancient native friends. "I had quite a time, at first," 
said she, "they wanted to show me that they understood 
Spanish, but I held them down to their own lingo." 

Spelling the words phonetically, I submit the following 



282 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

as examples of Pals and Kaliwa words, a la Lollie, viz.: 

"Hii-pa ma hup; sing ye, a mi wai-sa," (repeat). 
"A no-che, cheu spili pow-wow, cheu spilt pow-wow, 
"Yu-i, myu-mai, chi-wamui ka-ka, chi-wami kaka." 

The first line constitutes the old war song of the Pais, the 
second and third an ancient love song, still in use among 
that tribe. From the Kaliwas come these jaw breaking 
words: Pahamehamakaipa (An American); Marashree- 
pahachahamakaipa (An American Girl) ; Chihiskwi-kwiro 
(wire) ; Mezai (Good), and Mahd (Meat). 

With my new burros, together with three of the Colonel's 
picked broncos — one of which, Winnie, I soon purchased — 
the Colonel and I were now prepared for our venturesome 
trip. After some hesitancy my mozo decided to accompany 
us as far as Valle Trinidad. Poor fellow, the Mexicans 
and Indians had told him such terrifying yarns that his 
fears were not surprising! Immediately prior to our de- 
parture Miss Bertie baked for us a choice batch of biscuits 
and an entire haunch of venison. Lettie and Lollie, mean- 
time, introduced me to a nest of "yellow-jackets" from 
which I fled, ingloriously; their father cautioned us to keep 
our canteens and barrel filled against thirst and their mother 
privately instructed the Colonel, and later on admonished 
me, to be kind to the stock and good-tempered to each 
other. 

As I bade the kindly matron good-bye, I said, "Let me 
take back to civilization your receipt for bringing up sons 
and daughters. I've met seven of your children and more 
industrious or happier young people I have yet to see. Here, 
for instance, at the end of the world, you have three attrac- 
tive young girls. They cook, milk cows, round up cattle, 
sew, wash dishes and clothing, iron, "break" stock, 'tend 
store, look after the mining reservoirs; they work from 



THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA 283 

daylight to darkness; they are always running or trotting, 
they never drag listlessly about. They sing at their work; 
they find odd minutes in which to read books and maga- 
zines; they are happy without company and retire early 
without complaining. Such contented girls I never have 
seen elsewhere. How have you done it?" 

At first surprised, then amused, the mother listened to 
my long inquiry. "Well," said she, "I was married at six- 
teen. Some of the women In my family — my father was a 
minister of the gospel — suffered from ill health. Upon 
marrying I decided to live an out-door life. Only twice 
since then have doctors entered my home. I have borne 
ten children. Nine live. I have taught them to respect the 
law, be honest, avoid going into debt, be industrious and 
be thoughtful of each other. In childhood each one of them 
at some one time thwarted my will ; in each case, first care- 
fully explaining why I was right, I have absolutely insisted 
on my stand. Every one of them has been given his chance 
to make some money individually. That's all. I guess 
they've just come up in the fresh air." 

Reascending the sierra by an unnamed suggestion of a 
trail, I quickly crossed the crest with my outfit and came to 
a halt at the head of the Santa Rosa Arroyo. The Camino 
Real at the south, and the Agua Caliente Camino at the 
southeast, were so distinct as not to require exploration; 
here, however, was the beginning of the ancient and for- 
gotten Santa Rosa Camino. Taking a brace on ourselves, 
we started downwards. The Santa Rosa is one of the two 
most diabolical caminos in all Lower Cahfornia! More- 
over, and with my compliments, the San Felipe Desert Is 
a mighty bad place to visit in summer. Thus after a frosty 
morning on the crest we found ourselves at night stretched 
out on burning sand with the thermometer registering 112 
degrees. 



CHAPTER XXII 

WHEREIN I WITNESS A COMBAT BETWEEN MOUNTAIN SHEEP, 

REVISIT THE CATARINA YUMAS, AND 

SEARCH FOR TREASURE 

WITH August now well advanced, the Lower Cali- 
fornia deserts were vast, broiling sand-spits, 
catching the fullness of the sun's rays and sullenly 
holding their heat during the short, breathless nights. Even 
the craggy sierras glistened and baked under the great, 
glaring, unveiled eye of fire. Those who venture into such 
an atmosphere grow chary of words, bowing before the 
heat by day, and cursing it and their own foolhardiness 
when the horizon puts away the sun for the night. 

Thus had the day passed with the Colonel and myself, 
descending the sierra slope, and thus, as we sought rest in 
the evening, he burst forth, "Curse it, curse it, curse this 
heat," he cried, wildly, "the cursed earth is a-fire burning 
through my blanket. With nothin' over me I'm burnin' 
up. The near way down's been the way of the sun to-day. 
How damn hot is it, anyway?" 

"It's 112 dgrees, and 7:45 P. M.," I replied shortly, 
after consulting both thermometer and watch. 

"Don't wonder your mozo didn't want to tackle the San 
Felipe and Colorado Deserts this time o' year." 

We were silent a few minutes. 

"Colonel," I then queried, "my head's bad. Do you sup- 
pose this heat has phased me?" 

285 



286 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

The old frontiersman grunted. "Dunno, it's main queer 
for a man to see things. Better git some sleep. I'll bet 
that desert '11 be hell-fired hot to-morrow." 

Half an hour earlier, as we were unsaddling on the edge 
of a tinaja in the frightful arroyo down which we had come 
eastward out of San Pedro Martir Sierra, I had vainly en- 
deavored to point out to my companion what seemed to be 
a large black animal moving among the white boulders on 
the mountain side, half a mile distant. There are no bears 
in Baja California, and the Colonel was certain that there 
could be no such large dark animal as I described. 

His sleeping advice was good. Nine hours later I sat 
up in my blankets, feeling much refreshed, hauled off the 
jacket of my pajamas, slipped on a thin undershirt, then 
seized my carbine and half a dozen extra cartridges, leaving 
the completion of my dressing until a later time; for there 
had come to my ears from up the mountain side a quick 
succession of snorts and pig-like grunts followed by a great 
crashing as of giant boulders falling upon one another. 
Again my eyes had seen the large dark animal. This time, 
however, there were two of them and each had bulky shoul- 
ders and great rams' horns extending outward. If the heat 
has affected both my sight and hearing, I thought, as I 
slipped on a pair of Mexican slippers and hurried down the 
arroyo, I may as well see what will come of a little shooting. 

Fifty yards from camp I crouched down In the conceal- 
ment of a mesquit and for fifteen minutes watched a 
knightly combat. High up on the steep granite mountain 
side two rams were fighting a desperate duel. Backing off 
ten or fifteen paces, they would rush forward grunting and 
snorting, their mighty heads bent low and when they crashed 
together their great horns resounded like rolling boulders. 
Doubtless, to a disinterested observer the scene would have 
been amusing: high among the cliffs the two big rams in 



A COMBAT BETWEEN MOUNTAIN SHEEP 287 

tournament engaged, butting each other, oblivious of all 
else; and down in the trough of the arroyo, a wild-eyed 
liunter in undershirt, pajamas and teguas, rubbing the sleep 
out of his eyes and wishing the sun were on the mountain 
so that he might see the game distinctly through his carbine 
sights. 

Finally, an ordinary sized ram, seemingly a referee or a 
peacemaker, appeared on the scene and endeavored to sep- 
arate the combatants. Then the shooting began. At the 
second shot the "referee" dropped in his tracks. The others 
scattered for the moment, then returned and renewed their 
contest. By this time my cartridges were exhausted and I 
called for more. The Colonel quickly appeared with an 
unbroken box and I climbed upon a boulder and resumed 
firing while my companion expostulated, saying that if the 
sheep were allowed to fight I could creep closer. But, crude 
though it may seem to the polite hunter, to me "shelling" 
is far more interesting than stalking, and my carbine was 
soon blistering my hands. One ram quickly rushed away to 
the right, the other to the left. The latter, as he seemed to 
be wounded received attention for full a dozen shots during 
which time he fell three times. 

We soon had the "referee" in camp though I didn't do 
the carrying. He had a short mane and except for his light 
rump and nose, was of the darkest mole color; perhaps he 
was one of Clavijero's herrendos negros, certainly there are 
no hides of like color in our museums, although that tireless 
sheep hunter, Sheldon of New York, secured one, not un- 
like It, In Chihuahua.* By the time the ram was In camp 
and the pack train ready, the thermometer registered 114 
degrees In the shade with higher promises that did not en- 
courage us to scramble after the wounded duellist, although 
we were certain of his whereabouts owing to the devoted 



Note C: Appendix. 



288 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

attendance of a ewe that appeared upon a cliff just above 
where he had fallen at the last shot. As we journeyed 
toward the mouth of the arroyo, she looked fearlessly down 
upon us and we, on our part, watched with keenest interest 
the ease with which she moved up and down the almost per- 
pendicular sides of her lookout point, seeking the best van- 
tage ground for observing our movements. 

I left the arroyo realizing that I was losing a wonderful 
ram, but with the increasing heat and the necessity of hasten- 
ing across the San Felipe Desert, not even a gold mine 
would have been an incentive for delay. Indeed, at lo 
o'clock, A. M., as we crouched in the poor shade of a palo 
verde waiting for the distant night that might bring a tem- 
perature possible for traveling, the Colonel gave brusque 
expression to his thoughts, "There's no dyin' till your time 
comes, but ourn may not be just far off." 

Even now as I write, the memory of the next ten days 
is a kaleidoscopic nightmare of privation and tense strain, 
of simmering deserts, tawny Indians and alluring treasure. 
Up the San Felipe Desert we fought our way, contending 
against frightful heat and the impending danger of yet 
more frightful thirst. Once around the northern spurs of 
the sierra, Timoteo turned homeward, taking an easy south- 
westerly trail and leaving the Colonel and me to venture by 
ourselves among the Catarina Yumas and the Cocupas. 

Later as we two huddled close around a grouchy camp 
fire in the Valle Trinidad, drying out after the drenching of 
an unexpected thunder storm, an intelligent looking mestizo 
appeared before us. Receiving the usual Invitation, he 
crouched beside our fire and, after accepting a proffered 
smoke, entered Into friendly conversation In the course of 
which he met my Inquiry about jeroglijicos by asking 
whether I had ever seen "las jarras viejas" (the ancient 
jars) — as I understood him — in the Arroyo Grande. Then 



A COMBAT BETWEEN MOUNTAIN SHEEP 289 

our eager questioning brought out the statement that even 
a century ago, in the days of his grandfather's youth, these 
jarras were in a secluded niche in a high cliff which suc- 
ceeding generations of Indians had vainly endeavored to 
scale. With the advance of the tale the Colonel became as 
breathlessly interested as I. Knowingly squinting one eye, 
he whispered quietly to me, in English, "Aztec treasure! I 
oncst made a great haul that way over in Arizona." The 
same thought already possessed me. To our delight, upon 
an offer of ten pesos, the mestizo readily agreed to show us 
"las jarras." 

Our minds instantly aflame with alluring mental pictures 
of fantastic ancient jars overflowing with Aztec gold and 
jewels, we brooked no delay. Pushing on rapidly to the 
little mining pueblo of Alamo through which I had passed 
seven months before, we halted there just long enough to 
purchase such spikes and additional rope as might be useful 
in cliff climbing — not forgetting a supply of lemons and an 
extra canteen for use on the desert near the Rio Hardy — 
then we had hurried back a few miles to the Rancho Viejo 
where the mestizo awaited us. That name, Rancho Viejo, 
looks and sounds excellently well, though it means, simply, 
Old Ranch, a most frequent designation for premises on the 
Peninsula. 

From the rancho we followed an Indistinct and ancient 
Indian trail, once a part of El Camino Real. By nightfall 
we were within a quarter of a mile of the ruins of the Santa, 
Catarina Mission, and near a green vale where a hill shut 
us off from the Indians and where a brook of cold water ran 
close by. Here we made camp. Though dogs were bark- 
ing and we could see lights shining out from the shacks at 
the further side of the valley, we refrained from making 
any visits. After picketing the animals, In place of turning 
them loose with hobbles, and throwing his blankets near the 



290 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

more valuable portion of the outfit, the Colonel seemed to 
have no further concern about surroundings. For my own 
part I slept little that night. A cooling dew soon fell, and 
as we had just left the dry, burning desert, the dampness 
was refreshing. After over two thousand miles of travel 
in Lower California, I was ready to give the Mission of 
Santa Catarina the palm for cool weather. 

Early the following morning, we left our outfit in camp 
and rode up to the rancheria where I observed more shacks 
than before. Two of the new ones were in front of an old 
oak cross, a relic of the days of the Frailes in whose time 
it had served to support the mission bells. From these 
shacks we received friendly greetings and the mestizo 
stopped for a chat while the Colonel and I rode on to the 
ex-chief's residence. 

I found that the old fellow had not forgotten me. At 
sight of my camera, Anita, too, smiled in recognition. Of 
the incidents of New Year's day they seemed in ignorance 
and I made no mention of their tribe's misdoings but at 
once proceeded to show the family pictures which I had 
taken of their shack and of other Indians and of game. The 
ex-chief was much pleased at a picture of a mountain sheep 
while Anita and her sister gazed with interest at a picture 
of a Pais Indian girl. It was soon arranged that I should 
photograph the entire family, a blind patriarch — father of 
the ex-chief — the ex-chief himself and his squaw, Anita and 
her sister and Anita's parents. As a thunder shower was 
thinking seriously of breaking loose, I was dubious of re- 
sults. After two snaps, I tried smaller groups and then 
asked Anita and her father, a big, dark, burly buck, in no 
way like her, to pose together; but no, Anita would be taken 
alone, but not with "him''. 

She was not quite thirteen years of age and her youthful 
figure was as straight and slender as that of a boyish cadet 



A COMBAT BETWEEN MOUNTAIN SHEEP 291 

captain. Her bright eyes were the modest eyes of a child. 
The sister had a stolid expression like the father^s, but 
Anita's clear-cut features were more Gallic than Indian. 
Both girls, with their simple gowns, their conventional shoes 
and stockings, their air of fresh, wholesome neatness, 
seemed far removed from the wonted squalor of the ran- 
cheria. 

The old man, the only beggar in the group, asked for 
tobacco. Later, in response to questioning, he told of the 
mission days, and, with a senile boast, stated that his tribe 
had always been "very fierce," that they had quarreled with 
the Frailes and with the Cocupas, Kaliwas, and neighboring 
Indian tribes. Rambling along, he related how he and his 
braves had fought first with and then against Filibuster 
^'Guillermo" Walker, and how they had, at another time, 
joined their relatives, the Yumas, along the Gila, in haras- 
sing the caravans en route to the Sacramento Placers. 

"I have killed many men," said he, with a grin on his 
toothless old visage, "but the best was when I killed women 
and children from those caravans — they had such fine, long 
scalps." Raising his wizened old arms, he imitated the 
drawing of a bowstring and the handling of a scalping 
knife, the meantime chuckling reminiscently. As I looked at 
the sputtering old villain and thought of the helpless women 
and children that had died to make up the "best time" of 
his life, I felt a most ardent desire to turn my six-shooter 
upon him. 

Anita's father now volunteered to show me the old mis- 
sion bell, though the grandfather seemed doubtful and made 
some remark which I could not understand. Following 
three of the Indians, the Colonel and I proceeded to a brush 
shack about a hundred paces distant. Our guides opened 
the door of the shack and we found within a large, heavy 
bell. It was inscribed, "Santophe i']Sl''^ ^^ I w^s endea- 



292 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

voring to make a favorable impression on the Indians by- 
raising the old relic from the ground, we heard guttural 
exclamations and quick hoof beats. I put down the bell 
and stepped out from the shack just in time to meet an angry 
Catarina Yuma. 

He was the Capitan, or chief, it seemed, and as such he 
objected to a stranger's entering the precincts over which he 
was guardian. He was mounted on a fiery, black stallion. 
He carried a knife, which did not look friendly, rode bare- 
back and wore no clothing save a breech-cloth and a serapa. 
My friends made some explanation, the Colonel offered 
cigarettes and we left the Capitan with his bell. As we re- 
turned to the other shack, Anita's father explained that this 
man had supplanted the old chief because the latter drank 
too much mescal, and now this fellow was drunk all the 
time while the ex-chief had become temperate. It would 
seem that the excitement of office goes to the head of even 
a Catarina Yuma. We observed as we rode away that the 
Indians had a field of over a hundred acres of fine corn and 
melons. 

We traveled hard that day; late in the afternoon we 
rested a few minutes before the brush camp of a Mexican 
vaquero. Tanned hides were stretched about in wild con- 
fusion, and the Mexican, noting that they attracted my 
attention, remarked that he intended to have them made 
up into "shaps" and leather pantaloons. 

"As you stopped down there by the Catarinas," he con- 
tinued, "you doubtless saw the well dressed little squaw, 
Anita. She sews well, she cooks well. In a few days I go 
to the chief and get her. I am lonely and I have much sew- 
ing here to be done." 

Somewhat astounded, I looked at him rather cynically. 
"She is but a child," I explained. 



A COMBAT BETWEEN MOUNTAIN SHEEP 293 

"The better," he answered, "the chief will sell her to 
me for half a beef." 

Before leaving the rancheria we had endeavored to per- 
suade the ex-chief to accompany us to the Colorado River. 
Vain our efforts. In August the Arroyo Grande was well 
nigh impossible, said the veteran, while, as for the deserts 
beyond, his people never had ventured upon them in mid- 
summer. Then they were too much like el Injierno! Unde- 
terred by these well-meant warnings, we three rode east- 
ward over into the barren country about the spring of El 
Tule, known among the old Pais Indians as Jacal or Run- 
ning Water, thence we hastened onward past Eagle Peak, 
across thirsty mesas and over rocky ridges. Finally, the 
third day after our departure from the rancheria, down in 
the narrow depths of the Arroyo Grande, where the slant 
red cliffs rise to dizzy heights skyward, three swarthy, rough 
appearing men, reining in their mules, stared upward at a 
niche fifty feet above the sandy arroyo bottom. The swel- 
tering day was far advanced and in consequence of a vain 
scramble after an illusive band of mountain sheep two of 
the men were short of temper and reeking with perspiration. 

^'Alli (there) las jaras!" exclaimed one of the two, with 
an upward jerk of his right hand. 

"No lo veo las jarras" (I don't see the jars), said the 
other, impatiently. 

"Alii, alii las jaras" (There, there, las jaras), repeated 
the first speaker, emphasizing his final word. 

"Hell, man, them aint jarras," cried the third rider, in a 

sudden blaze of anger, " y'u, have y'u bin play'n 

us?" 

As I, the second speaker, caught sight of feathered arrow 
ends protruding from the rocky niche and realized that 
these were the "ancient jars" over which the Colonel and I 



294 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

had waxed enthusiastic, the indignation of the imposed took 
possession of me and I was ready to join the Colonel in 
roundly cursing the mestizo for "playin' " us. Meantime 
the latter had become so astounded by our non-appreciation 
of his services that cooling down I paid him the agreed ten 
pesos. I am glad that I did so, for, though "la jarra" 
means "the jar" and flecha Is the usual Spanish word for 
"arrow," I have since learned that "la jarra," Spanish for 
"the cistus," has an idiomatic meaning of "the dart." The 
mestizo had been honest; we, however, had mistaken his 
"las jaras" for "las jarras." 

Out of curiosity and a desire to show the fellow how 
much superior we were to Indians, we presently turned our 
energies toward reaching the arrows. By placing a fallen 
mesquit upright against the cliff and by jamming horseshoes 
in cracks still higher up, I managed to climb to a consid- 
erable height. Then, with a long pole made by splicing two 
maguay stalks together with raw-hide and affixing a fish- 
hook to the tapering end, I managed, after numerous weari- 
some failures, to yank out ten ancient war arrows, together 
with an old fashioned, twisted, fire-hardened spear 
shaft. 

As soon as we had accomplished this feat, the mestizo 
remarked that he must leave immediately, for his mule was 
thirsty and he was satisfied that all tinajas east and north 
where we were going were dry. Following this cheerful 
statement with a hearty buenos tardes, he spurred away In 
the direction of Valle Trinidad while we journeyed silently 
down the arroyo. At eight o'clock that evening we found 
well-filled tinajas. In the middle of the night a brown scor- 
pion stung me above the right knee. The following day 
while I nursed my wound — the poison had spread out form- 
ing an angry red and yellow spot, as large as my hand and 
extremely painful — the Colonel rounded up our straying 



A COMBAT BETWEEN MOUNTAIN SHEEP 295 

burros and killed a mountain sheep. That night we dis- 
lodged from our blankets an immense green scorpion over 
three inches longl 



CHAPTER XXIII 

IN AND OUT THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 

LOATH to leave water and wondering what fate we 
were tempting, we broke camp the twenty-fifth, 
bound for the junction of the Hardy and Colorado 
Rivers. By one o'clock in the afternoon we found ourselves 
beyond the mouth of the Arroyo Grande and on the south- 
eastern edge of a desert which seemed to extend for forty 
or fifty miles to the northwest. Halting at this point for 
lunch, we rested our heated animals. The sand-swept Sierra 
del Pinto was opposite us, distant, perhaps, ten miles. In 
these mountains there is no known water. Fortunately 
they seemed to break entirely away toward the northeast, 
leaving a desert sweep of ten or twelve miles intervening 
before the rise of the Cocupa Sierras, a northwesterly con- 
tinuation of the range. For this gap we were bound. Some- 
where beyond it lay the Hardy, a tributary of the Colorado 
River. Just how far beyond was a question for our per- 
sonal solution, this being a region not exemplified on the 
maps and frankly dreaded by Mexicans and Indians, be- 
cause of its extreme heat and absolute lack of water-holes. 

Eight months earlier I had spent a night burning a signal 
fire to save the hunter lost on this very desert, and the ensu- 
ing afternoon had been advised by the ranchero Juan, an ex- 
perienced guide, that it was so dangerous a region that he 
had never dared venture upon it; his friend Denton had, 
indeed, made the passage successfully, in four days' time, 
but Denton had been favored by rainy, wintry weather. 

297 



298 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

Although this four-day story had seemed fishy, I recollected 
that Pattle, the noted trapper, had nearly succumbed to 
thirst somewhere in this section, which he afterwards char- 
acterized as the most dangerous portion of his ten thousand 
mile ride from Kentucky to the Californias and return. On 
the other hand, across this desert in former times stretched 
the war trail by which the Catarina Yumas reached the 
Colorado and Gila River country; moreover, over these 
very sands Filibuster Walker and his tall warriors had 
marched in April, 1854, and sixty years earlier, Arrilliga, 
the adventurous Spanish Governor, had made the trip in 
safety. Furthermore, I was satisfied that native vaqueros 
had occasionally done the distance, and in less than four 
days. 

The time of the year was all that really disturbed me, for 
we were thoroughly well prepared. The Colonel's life had 
been a succession of hardships that fitted him for such a 
venture as this. I was in superb condition. Our stock — 
two riding mules and five young pack burros — were fairly 
fresh, and with only two hundred and sixty pounds of cargo 
among them the burros had the lightest of packs; in fact, 
each day some one of them was permitted to travel without 
any load. Of water we had ten gallons, contained in three 
covered canteens and in one five gallon wine cask. More- 
over, I had tucked away a yard and a half of rubber tubing 
with which, in case of supreme urgency, I hoped to be able 
to distil salt water. Of every drop of the ten gallons, we 
were most chary, however, for, doubtless, three days would 
elapse before we could replenish our supply. And without 
water? Well, south of the Imperial country they say that 
on an ordinary August day along the Colorado Desert a 
pedestrian can last perhaps eight hours without water — then 
come insane delusions, harbingers of death by thirst. In 
his deluded stage, the wretched sufferer, divesting himself 



THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 299 

of all clothing, seeks to plunge into splashing pools just 
beyond his reach. 

After an hour's nooning we resumed our journey, travel- 
ing due north across the desert. Though four hours of 
this course brought us to the point of the Pintos, we found 
to our alarm that we could neither cross the ridge nor 
swing immediately around the point. We had come upon 
an encrusted bed of sand so completely undermined and so 
thoroughly honey-combed by burrowing creatures that our 
stock stumbled and sank to their bellies. Alarmed, unable 
to advance, they balked and floundered helplessly. Retreat, 
also, became difficult, for the sand had already begun to 
cave in about the deep trail which we had made. To add 
to the confusion, the obscurity of the twilight limited the 
range of our vision, while frequent angry whirrings from dis- 
turbed "side-winders" admonished us to avoid dismounting 
and searching too curiously. After floundering hopelessly 
about, we swung well out to the left, but even there the trav- 
eling was so heavy that by 8 130 in the evening we were 
forced to consider our animals and make camp as best we 
might in the scorching sand. This upset our plans for cov- 
ering a goodly distance in the cooler temperature of the 
night. 

After scratching over a level spot with our cleaning rods 
so as to dislodge any possible "side-winders," tarantulas, 
scorpions or other local residents whose company might 
prove undesirable, we stretched out with our blankets be- 
neath us and had a light, non-thirst producing supper of 
hard tack, cold broiled mountain sheep and lemonade. Our 
poor beasts, meanwhile, were quick to sniff the water. In- 
deed, crowding about us they made such pitiable efforts to 
tell of their thirst that we had not the heart to carry out our 
intention of giving them no water until morning. During 
our journey across the San Felipe Desert, they had learned 



300 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

to drink from a sauce-pan and now, with glad subdued 
whinnies, each sought eagerly his small portion and then 
plead for more. We dared not humor them, however, for 
on the following day water would be more absolutely nec- 
essary for them and, careful though we had been, the 
Colonel and I had already consumed two gallons in the 
fourteen hours since leaving the tinajas. Truly, the dry 
heat on these southern deserts has a wonderful way of 
bringing the perspiration from a traveler, leaving him so 
parched that his whole system calls constantly for great 
gulps of water. 

Though we found immediate sleep our slumbers were 
frequently disturbed. Winnie, a wayward, silver gray 
burro, at once the youngest and tallest in our train, was the 
offender. Again and again did she rub her soft nose against 
one or the other of us, pleading for a chance at the water 
cask which rested between us. About midnight a slight 
breeze sprang up. An hour later the air grew fresh enough 
for a thin blanket to be acceptable. Yet even in the last 
hours of the silent desert night the mighty waste of sand 
retained the heat of the evening as though the desert were 
some huge ash-covered bed of embers only waiting the first 
breath of a new day before breaking forth into flames. 

We were in the saddle by 6 A. M. Even then the mer- 
cury registered 78 degrees, giving us grim warning of what 
to expect at mid-day. For the first league we traveled over 
a succession of sand dunes which were so honey-combed 
with underground run-ways of burrowing creatures that our 
animals again and again broke through the upper crust and 
became engulfed in the treacherous sand. Then the wel- 
come sight of a lake dead ahead and extending far to the 
northwest gave us new life. Alas! on nearer approach the 
sheet of water receded and we rode upon damp salty flats, 
the scene of some recent overflow. To the northwest we 



THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 301 

could still see the glimmering sheen. Presently, close to our 
right, appeared a small pond. As a family of curlew were 
disporting along the shore, we concluded that this was no 
delusive water. Dismounting, therefore, I hurried over 
with the intention of having a long drink. A single taste 
sufficed. The pond was as salty as the ocean! While I 
stared about in disappointment, the curlew approached 
within a few feet, studying with every evidence of wonder. 
j After resuming our march, we shortly found the softness 
of the ground to be such that our animals could not travel 
over it. "Lordy," ejaculated the Colonel, as I led off on an 
easterly tack, "in figurin' on the desert I warn't countin' on 
mud!" More of these bogs soon made it necessary for us 
to change our course to the northeast. In this direction we 
continued until early afternoon. 

The intervening hours were desperately trying. Nature, 
herself, seemed bent on our undoing. The fiery shafts of a 
relentless sun beat down upon our heads. The hot, saturated 
earth again and again gave way beneath our feet. The air 
was stifling, murky. Mirages concealed the true horizon. 
Thickets and strange weird objects arose at either hand 
only to disappear in the twinkling of an eye. The glassy 
surface of a broad lake glittered in the sunlight before us, 
its unstable shore-line ever receding, while a shimmering sea 
crept stealthily in our wake. Deceived by our eyes, hemmed 
In by the unreal, we came to doubt the stability of our 
minds. 

For a day and a half the very heat had made us un- 
wontedly uncommunicative. Now I felt an inclination to 
shriek out meaningless nothings, while the Colonel, who had 
over-taxed his strength In securing his last mountain sheep, 
began to voice half delirious recollections of the days when 
he rode with Moseby and Quantrell. As he was unconscious 
of his rambling, it is possible that I, too, talked queerly. 



302 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

Splendid horseman though he was, several times my com- 
panion reeled in his saddle until I feared that he would fall. 
Once I inquired concerning his condition, but, though he 
admitted that his head and stomach were troubling him, he 
uttered no complaint, nor did he once blame me for bringing 
him into such a region. For my own part I slouched for- 
ward in my saddle and endeavored to keep control of my 
mind; for the hot air pressed close about my head like a 
tightly drawn iron band until I felt that the very sutures 
must soon fly apart. 

^The ground over which we were passing was thickly 
strewn with glittering salt. Save for pools of salty water, 
patches of salt grass, infrequent bushes and occasional 
heaps of driftwood, it was a barren, unbroken plain of sand 
and sediment. The natural situation was easy to compre- 
hend. We were close on the heels of an overflow of the 
Hardy River, a stream usually impregnated with salt from 
the mud volcanoes at its source and from the tidewater 
running up from the Gulf of California. With the advanc- 
ing hours I became alarmed, fearing that we might find our 
way blocked by a large body of this overflow, which would 
so delay us that our water supply might become exhausted 
ere we could discover more. 

At noon we called a brief halt and, having broached the 
water cask, gave each animal a half pint drink from a 
saucepan. They whinnied and begged for more, but we 
had become sternly inexorable. An hour later the thirsty 
creatures, breaking from the line of march, rushed over 
toward a small pond a few rods distant. Their instinct was 
correct. The water was fresh, brackish certainly, but none 
the less acceptable to them. A thunder storm had passed 
that way. Finding a thicket of mesquit a league farther 
on, under Its shade we rested until five o'clock — with the 
thermometer registering 120 degrees! 



THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 303 

On resuming our march we pursued a northwesterly 
course which shortly brought us to a corral, a shack and a 
wire gauze frame house. Raised above the level of the 
ground both buildings were protected by a small levee. Be- 
yond them flowed a sluggish, muddy stream a hundred yards 
in width. We had reached the Hardy, the largest river in 
all Lower California ! Also, though no one was at hand to 
greet us, we had stumbled on the "Salada" cattle camp. 
With a feeling of relief we removed saddles and packs 
from our exhausted animals and prepared supper. Pres- 
ently a vaquero appeared, and from him we gathered that 
the junction of the Hardy and the Colorado Rivers was but 
a league and a half to the southeast; that the last overflow 
of the Hardy was just receding, and that at the time of 
these periodic floods, tidal bores or waves from four to five 
feet in height came rolling up from the Gulf of California, 
inundating the entire country. Furthermore, he stated that 
he had come in from Yuma via Sonora and that we could 
not get out by any other way. 

The ensuing morning, Sunday, August 27th, we left our 
outfit at the Salada and rode down to the junction of the 
rivers. Here we dismounted, and while the Colonel prowled 
about In search of an old boat of which the vaquero had 
told us, I contentedly seated myself on the high bank of 
the Colorado and enjoyed my surroundings. 

Twenty feet below me flowed a muddy stream not over 
a hundred and fifty yards in breadth. Beyond this, on the 
Sonora side, ghstened a wide stretch of mud flats reaching 
back to a low grass-grown bank, a quarter of a mile be- 
yond. Over these flats, long-horned Mexican cattle and 
snorting mustangs were coming and going In continuous pro- 
cession. One by one they would halt at the water's edge, 
drink deeply, then face about and flounder eastward 
again. Meanwhile, circling overhead and dotting the shore 



304 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

line, myriads of raucous sea fowl and long-legged waders 
were making a veritable Bedlam with their quarreling and 
squawking, while leaping silver-hued fish incessantly dis- 
turbed the surface of the river. Heedless of the stock and 
undisturbed by our presence, no less than nine coyotes pa- 
trolled the flats, running in and out among the larger birds 
in restless search for food. Frequently they would all 
congregate in a snarling crowd about the remains of a half 
grown whale. The vaquero had told us that this leviathan 
had strayed up from the Gulf, lured on by the sweet voice 
of a wild burro. In this story the Colonel expressed entire 
belief. Said he, "That whale wanted a choice meal. Burro 
meat is the sweetest flesh there is." On this statement I 
can offer no comment, as yet having had no occasion to in- 
vestigate the merits of burro steak. 

To the south and southeast lay the Sierra del Pinto. 
Early in January I had stood on a southerly point in these 
mountains and looked down upon the mouth of the Colo- 
rado River with its broad, glistening, reddish-white shores. 
Now, as then, I could but marvel over the fact that while 
this was one of the first sections ever explored on the Ameri- 
can continent, it Is to-day one of the least known. In 1539, 
centuries ago, Francisco de UUoa, an admiral of Cortez, 
discovered the mouth of the Colorado while searching for 
the Northwest Passage! A year later Hernando de Alar- 
con, admiral to the Spanish Viceroy Mendoza and compan- 
ion of Francis Vasquez de Coronado, arrived at the head- 
waters of the Gulf. "And when we were come," de Alarcon 
wrote, "to the flats and shoals . . . the pilots and the 
rest of the company would have had us do as Captain UUoa 
did, and have returned back again. But because your Lord- 
ship commanded me that I should bring you the secret of 
that Gulf, I resolved that I should not cease for anything. 
. After this sort we came to the very bottom of 



THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 3P5j 

the bay, where we found a mighty river which ran with 
so great fury of a stream that we could hardly sail against 
it." And small wonder that the old rover found the sailing 
difficult, for the tide here ascends full twelve leagues up the 
river, battling — until the recent diversion of the Colorado 
into the Salton Sea — with the furious current of the mighty 
Colorado and producing a marvelous tidal bore, the lowest 
thereof being three feet and the highest some twenty. 

In 1 72 1, Juan Ugarte, the Jesuit Padre, sailed into these 
waters in his Triunfo de la Cruz and noted with awe the 
terriffic velocity of the bores of the river. A quarter of a 
century later the illustrious Padre Consag passed close to 
certain reddish marshes, probably the ones which I observed 
in January, and continuing onward in canoes, ascended the 
river until forced back by the tidal bore, some seven leagues 
up stream. His report served the map makers until near 
the close of the nineteenth century ! 

In the month of January, 1826, the intrepid Pattie party, 
their horses stampeded by the Yumas, recklessly descended 
the Colorado in dugouts, trapping beaver on the way and 
setting the first fashions amongst the Cocupa squaws by 
offering them their hunting shirts and modestly intimating 
that It was not good form for woman to go unadorned! 
Finally, their camp was flooded by "a high ridge of water 
over which came the sea current combing down like water 
over a mill dam. . . The fierce billows shut us In from 
below, the river current from above, and murderous sav- 
ages on either hand on shore." About the same time Lieu- 
tenant R. W. Hardy of the English Navy discovered the 
False, or Hardy's, Colorado. Thirty years later Lieuten- 
ant Ives, an American officer, passed up the Colorado 
on a voyage of exploration, giving no attention, however, to 
the Hardy. If I have correctly welded together Indian tales 
and old records, the California and Sonora filibustering 



3o6 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

expedition of William Walker went to pieces in April, 1854, 
immediately after its disastrous attempt to cross the Colo- 
rado just below its junction with the Hardy. 

Notwithstanding this list of noted visitors with its hall 
mark of olden days, modern knowledge of the lower delta 
region of the Colorado is so limited that the Hardy River 
is rarely found on even the more complete maps. Indeed, it 
does not appear even on the recent charts of Lower Cali- 
fornia prepared by the Hydrographic Office of the United 
States Navy. As a matter of fact the Hardy carries a large 
body of water and winds along a tortuous course over fifty 
leagues in length. The distance from its junction with the 
Colorado River to the mouth of the latter is — the mean- 
derings of the river considered — full fifteen miles. The air 
line distance is vastly less. 

After the Colonel had found the boat and a long limb, a 
drift-wood board and a tin can, we boldly embarked upon 
the turgid Colorado. While I paddled vigorously with the 
board, he alternately bailed and poled. In this manner we 
attained the Sonora shore in safety. Our landing, however, 
so annoyed the coyotes that three of them waded — a possi- 
bility consequent upon the diversion of the Colorado at this 
point — across the river just above its junction with the 
Hardy ! Amazed at this sight my companion suddenly de- 
cided that it would suit him to be able to say that he had 
waded the Colorado. Unfortunately for his ambition, he 
chose a place below the junction of the rivers where mid- 
stream developed a seven-foot depth that called for the ex- 
ercise of his swimming abilities. 

In the afternoon we returned to the Salada and, after 
packing our burros, set forth for the Cocupa Indian settle- 
ments up the Hardy. The remainder of the day and the 
major portion of the ensuing forenoon — nine hours. In fact, 
of steady travel — wore away, however, before we had so 



THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 307 

much as reached the Indian trail along the high lands off the 
northeastern slope of the Cocupa Sierras. The distance 
covered amounted, perhaps, to fifteen miles! Ordinarily 
we would have had an easy wagon road every rod of the 
way. As it was we had a close shave getting through at 
all. Again and again our animals bogged. Here thickets 
of thorny mesquit barred the way, there tangled weeds and 
stinging nettles defied us; now we strode through dense 
masses of tules growing five and ten feet above our heads, 
and again we found ourselves compelled sullenly to make a 
wide detour to avoid some swamp or lagoon. Riding was 
out of the question after the first few miles, but our animals 
followed our lead right gamely, even when called upon 
to wade in water to their shoulders. 

Monday afternoon tried our endurance to the limit. 
Gradually, under the oppressive, stifling heat of the biting, 
tropical sun, our minds ceased to consider poise and pro- 
portion and to exercise self-control. Sullen, overheated, 
lacerated by thorns, we were quite ready to see a malignant 
personal animosity in each tangled growth that opposed 
our passage. From querulous ill-temper, we passed to 
smouldering anger that lent a viciousness to every slashing, 
brush-cutting blow of our long Mexican blades. Vindic- 
tively we hacked and tore through the thickets with the 
savagery that marks the advance of the wounded tiger as 
he malevolently rips and tears each vine and shrub that bars 
retreat to the jungle. Finally, at 1 1 o'clock we came out 
upon a plain trail at the base of and paralleling the sierras. 
For a moment we paused and stared at one another. We 
were plastered with mud to our waists, while arms, necks, 
chests, hands and faces were bleeding profusely from fre- 
quent contact with thorns and the jagged ends of broken 
branches. Our appearances were not prepossessing. The 
Colonel was the first to speak: *'That vaquero," 



, 3o8 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

he sputtered, "said we couldn't get through this way for 
a week. Seems ter me we look like we'd gotten through 
somethin' already, him." 

/Though the Cocupa Sierras are a barren range of moun- 
tains, rising to a height of over three thousand feet without 
any soil save crumbling reddish-yellow rock, along the wel- 
come trail at their base we noted willows and green grass. 
This growth Is due to the proximity of the Hardy, which, 
in places, even crowds close up against the mountain spurs! 
Very shortly we found deserted Indian remadas or arbors 
and then shacks, some of which were the most substantial 
Indian dwellings I had seen upon the peninsula. 

At one o'clock, thoroughly exhausted, we camped near a 
group of these shacks and enjoyed a three hours' siesta. 
Then we pressed on again. Our trail at once developed into a 
wagon road, but we quickly lost interest in roadways. While 
resting we had noted a yellowish haze hanging over the 
mountain tops to our left and heard the pelicans complain- 
ing loudly along the river. The Colonel had even remarked 
on our fortune in being off the desert, since It was doubt- 
less In the throes of a dangerous sand storm. Now, in five 
minutes' time, a terrific gale came sweeping over the sierras 
driving down a yellowish sandy mist which totally hid the 
sun and placed us In obscurity. Breaking from the road, our 
animals stood cowering In the brush. Only with the stimu- 
lus of spurs and heavy curb-bits could we force our riding 
mules to breast the storm. Meanwhile, a yelling, half 
naked Indian, his long locks whipping his bare neck and 
brown shoulders, unexpectedly appeared In a meadow be- 
fore us. Bending low over his half-crazed mustang, he 
wildly dashed after a stampeding herd of terrified horses. 
Joining their shrill cries to the general alarm, the water 
birds, that had been circling high above the river, closed 
their wings and dropped downward like great white stones. 



THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 3^9 

The air became icy. With this the situation grew beyond 
my comprehension. The sudden change had been too com- 
plete. The very air, discolored, heavy, grating, had become 
possessed with strange, uncanny meanings as though Nature 
were rousing herself to some weird, unwonted action. Tin- 
gling with cold, whipped by the wind, cloaked in depressing 
yellow gloom, moving in the midst of a setting appalling 
beyond that of any storm or earthquake I had ever expe- 
rienced, I could only blankly wonder what further play of 
the elements we were about to witness. I had not long to 
wait. Suddenly the world seemed a-quiver. Then the 
heavens resounded with a whirling, deafening crash of 
thunder. Even as the last reverberations died away, jolt- 
ing and rumbling into the far distance, a blaze of brilliant 
white light flared weirdly down through the cloaking ob- 
scurity. Another instant and a drenching torrent of rain 
swirled upon us as though the very clouds had ripped 
asunder. 

For two hours the violence of the storm in no wise abated. 
During that time we did not advance a league. With diffi- 
culty we kept our mules on the highway and rode against 
the burros, urging them from their shelters in the brush. 
We lost sight of one another. We could not hear each 
other's voices. Finally, passing through bars in a brush 
fence, I arrived at three shacks built of upright posts and 
thatched with tide. Within were gathered a crowd of long- 
haired, hideously painted Cocupa Indians. Dismounting, 1 
sought the protection of the largest shack for my camera 
and saddle-bags. In five minutes the Colonel joined me. 
In half an hour the rain ceased, the clouds vanished and 
we saw the setting sun sink behind the Cocupa Sierras. 

As the only one of our new acquaintances who possessed 
any knowledge of Spanish accepted the storm without com- 
ment we stifled our curiosity, and upon the cessation of the 



3IO CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

downpour, calmly pitched our tents, a few rods from the 
shacks, made a fire and began to dry our blankets and cloth- 
ing. In consequence of a severe kick from a burro the Col- 
onel was suffering painfully. 

In thinking over the strange storm I decided that it was 
possibly a combination of a sand and thunder storm; that 
the fierce current of the former had come over the sierras 
laden with yellow sand and had been, in crossing, deflected 
upward to a chilling altitude from which It had swung down- 
ward in the van of a thunder storm. This is but a surmise. 

While gathering firewood I saw another sight peculiar 
to the Hardy country, a toad as large as a "cottontail" rab- 
bit! As I neglected to follow the Colonel's advice and 
"rope" the batrachian, it disappeared during the night. His 
further suggestion, "Since you haint got Its pictur, don't talk 
about that critter in the States. Folks there'd say you wuz 
an Infernal liar," shall therefore receive due respect and I 
will leave the toad for some scientist to find and classify. 

Tuesday forenoon we traveled northward and northwest- 
erly, exploring the country of the Cocupas. We found a 
great number of Indian shacks, half of which were deserted, 
the occupants having gone either to the southwest for plrions 
or northward to work for the whites along the Border. All 
of these shacks were built In fields enclosed by brush fences. 
Although the soil — alluvial bottom land along the Hardy — < 
seemed as fertile as the most productive acres in the valleys 
of the Sacramento or Mississippi, only small portions of the 
fields were under cultivation. Except for occasional patches 
of melons or corn, we saw no growing crops. As the Col- 
onel remarked, "With fishin' handy an' corn a-plenty, why 
should they plant more'n they need?" 

Although the Indians we had seen Monday evening were 
clothed with the overalls and calicos of civilization, these 
that we now saw evidently had forgotten the admonition of 



THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 311 

Pattie and his trappers, for the children and the old men 
and women displayed the most limited wardrobes. A khaki 
coat — frequently with two or three gaudy buttons — a 
breech-clout and a smile sufficed for the grandfathers while 
their helpmates wore a narrow girdle supporting three or 
four short, triangular flaps of rags — and entirely dispensed 
with coat and smile. The little children made the most of 
the smile. It was all they had! But no, I am doing an 
injustice to the sartorial adornments of these youngsters, 
for nearly all of them wore bead necklaces so arranged as 
to fall in three successive loops, the lowest one reaching 
almost to their plump, brown little stomachs. Although 
to my great delight, we met several slender, erect, copper- 
hued braves as fierce looking and as handsome as any Indian 
warrior of the story books, the greater number were dark, 
thick-set, heavy featured people, duplicates of other Cocu- 
pas whom I had met about Calexico and Yuma a year or 
two before. All wore their hair long. Several of the older 
and apparently leading men kept their locks drawn about 
the crown of the head like a turban. 

To my extreme regret, men, women and children pro- 
tested so vigorously against the use of my camera that a few 
old people and some retreating figures were the only 
"snaps" I could secure. We came across one couple re- 
puted to be over a hundred years old. Their reddish-brown 
skin hung in folds, their flesh had worn away until the 
lower thigh bones were visible ; their eyes were sunken. The 
brave was totally blind. And yet, on our arrival at their 
shack, the old fellow tottered forward, protectlngly, before 
his mate, while she, poor, shrivelled, doubled up ancient, 
turned her dim eyes tenderly upon him, ready to guide his 
faltering steps. 

Although Innumerable water fowl congregate along the 
Hardy and Colorado and some few "mule" deer and wild 



312 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

hogs live in the cane-breaks of the delta, the Cocupas are 
practically without fire-arms. They are well enough sup- 
plied, however, with two kinds of bows. With the smaller 
they kill birds and rabbits, while their long bows will send a 
shaft through a "mule" deer. Tuesday morning I engaged 
in an archery contest with a Cocupa. We each discharged 
three arrows at a board two feet square set upright one 
hundred paces from us. Using a small bow, he scored two 
hits; my own record I refrain from recording! 

Finally, after seeing forty-seven different Indians, and 
having learned that few of the tribe* were at Pozo Vicente, 
the rancheria a half a league farther up the river, we pur- 
chased two dozen plump ears of green corn and turned 
away to the southwest with the intent of finding a salt lake 
to which the Indians had frequently referred. In this corn 
transaction we ascertained that the Cocupas are "sound 
money" people, counting the Mexican peso as half a dollar! 

We traveled steadily, gradually leaving the lowlands and 
climbing into the Cocupa Sierras, where we found an old 
trail of which the Indians had advised us. Following this 
we wound through a mountain pass and down upon the 
Cocupa Desert beyond. In the late twilight we halted, 
abruptly. A long narrow body of water barred our farther 
advance. We had found Laguna Maquata, the Laguna 
Salada, or Salt Lake, of which the Indians had spoken. 

After dismounting we perceived to our amazement that 
we had chanced upon the best camping ground either of us 
had ever seen on any desert. Numerous bunches of galleta 
or desert grass awaited our hungry stock, a small, inviting 
pool of clear water marked the passage of the thunder 
storm, the sand was firm and clean while the air had that 
rare sweetness only known to those who have wandered 
upon the desert immediately after a fall of rain. 

* Note D: Appendix. 



THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 313 

"When you rekolect," muttered the Colonel, staring 
about in pleased surprise, "that after '96 all this country 
seen no rain for seven year, you'll allow we're in dead luck." 

While my worthy comrade picketed the animals, I pre- 
pared a supper of steaming hot corn on the cob, potatoes 
boiled with their jackets on, broiled "jerked" venison, flap- 
jacks and wild honey. His work finished, the Colonel threw 
himself down on his blankets, observing, with interest the 
progress of my culinary operations. Presently he chuck- 
led, softly. "Out with it, pardner," I ventured, by way of 
encouragement. 

"I wuz jest a-thlnkin'," he began, "oncst in the seventies 
when I wuz with a cattle outfit in Wyoming, we hearn tell 
of a whoop up dance that wuz comin' off at Cheyenne. Us 
fellers wuz great hands at dancin' — even usto learn the 
squaws to polkey. So we figgered on goln' in a bunch, an' 
when one of the new boys, a shy young feller, said he wuz 
no hands with ladies and wouldn't go, we told him ter git 
a starch collar an' come along pronto. So all hands went, 
but at the dance the shy un set 'round too skeered to 
pound the floor. Then I fixed it with a young school marm 
I knew, and took him up an' give him a knock down. Well, 
a-try'n to waltz he trod all over her, shameful, an' never 
said a word sociable like, but jes looked so glum you'd a- 
thought he'd lost his best horse. So she up an' says, 'Mr. 
Harvey,' says she 'what's you thinkin' about?' At furst 
he didn't answer. Then he sees how sympathetic like she 
looks, an' he busts right out, 'Oh, mam,' says he, 'I do feel 
so solemcully like in here. I miss my "chaps," "taps" and 
"latigo straps" !' "* 

The Colonel paused a moment, then continued, "When I 

* These three — chapparejos, or leather riding breeches, tapaderas, or 
leather stirrup covers, and latigo straps, the straps with which a saddle 
"cinch" is tied to the iron rings of the saddle — are essentials to the 
frontier cowman. 



314 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

see you in January, you looked thin and wuz way off on your 
feed. At the table I passed you the onions and you said 
you didn't eat onions. The other day on the desert you 
wuz munchin' away on a raw onion like it was an apple. 
Jest now I was a-thinkin' that when you get back to the 
States a-dressin' up, a-sleepin' indoors on a bed an' a-goin' 
to an orfice, you'll think on life along the trail an' pretty 
soon you'll get mighty solemcully for you'll miss your 
'chaps' " 

The sentence was left unfinished. For an instant the old 
trooper raised one hand warningly, the next he rolled over 
behind the fire. Out from the distance came the faint jolt- 
ing of a loping horse. "Some one's on our trail," muttered 
the Colonel, ominously. 

The prospect didn't please me. Why should any one be 
trailing us? Presently we could hear the hoof beats of a 
considerable cavalcade; at this the Colonel growled sav- 
agely and reaching over among his blankets drew out his 
Leuger from its holster. Already we could make out a gray 
horse with darker animals following in single file. They 
were not a hundred yards distant. 

"Buenos noches," roared the Colonel, rising to his feet. 

Instantly the approaching line swung off to the right, 
then halted. I shouted a "good evening," first in Spanish, 
then English. There was no response. "Cocupas," grunted 
the Colonel, slipping his revolver Into Its holster. "But we'd 
better bring In our stock." Within five minutes they were 
tied Immediately about us. Meantime, fifty steps to our 
right, flickered up a tiny flame. "Huh," said my companion, 
"three bucks, with long huntin' bows, two squaws an' two 
kids. Jest a pinon party. I'm goln' to turn In." 

Five minutes later an erect, middle-aged brave appeared 
before us. His proportions were superb; his features clear 
cut and strikingly handsome. Unarmed and practically un- 



THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 315, 

clothed, his peaceful intent was further evidenced by the 
gift of a melon and by his attending companion, a small, 
wide-eyed boy. I gave them each a flap-jack which they ate 
with rehsh. They were soon followed by a buxom squaw 
leading a pretty little girl. Later, a dark, sturdy, sinister- 
looking young buck drifted in upon us. Squatting close 
about the fire, they enjoyed such supper as I gave them. A 
few lumps of sugar made the little people happy. However, 
not a word of English or Spanish could we get from any of 
our visitors. Presently we cut the melon. In shape it re- 
sembled a water melon, in taste the "nutmeg" variety of the 
canteloupe. The Colonel grimly declined a slice, but as 
soon as the Indians began nibbling theirs, I fell to. 

We must have made a queer scene there on the edge of 
the great desert! The stolid, bright-eyed, copper-hued In- 
dians crouching by the fire, my grizzled frontier companion 
lying on his blankets, his revolver close at hand, our 
shadowy stock munching at the grass about us, the clear sky 
high above with the pale moon and glittering stars. Sud- 
denly, our visitors arose. Then, without a word having 
been said, they slipped away In single file. The Colonel, 
long accustomed to and little interested In Indians, fell 
asleep at once. With me it was different. I had enjoyed 
the visit — and I felt a trifle nervous over the close proximity 
of our neighbors. 

Finally, at eleven o'clock, after building up the fire and 
opening my blankets, I examined my six-shooter, prepara- 
tory to sleep. The cylinder refused to turn. The storm 
had wet and rusted the mechanism. Reaching over to my 
saddle, I jerked my carbine from Its sheath and throwing up 
the muzzle before me, jammed a cartridge Into the chamber. 
The effect was Instantaneous — and unexpected. At the 
sharp click of the lever, there was a wild commotion among 
the bunches of galleta grass toward which the muzzle 



3l6 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

chanced to be directed and a dark figure threw itself into a 
depression of the sand beyond. The rest of the night I had 
insomnia. Anyway, I didn't sleep. 

In the early morning the dark young buck paid us a brief 
visit, leaving without a word. As he walked away, I saw a 
revolver projecting from his hip pocket. Commenting on 
this, I made brief mention to the Colonel of the evening's 
occurrence, "and that was the chap, I expect," I said, in 
conclusion. To me the experience now seemed interesting 
and I spoke without thought of the disregard of an early 
frontiersman for Indian life when his outfit is concerned. 

Instantly my warrior companion whipped out his deadly 
Leuger and with repeated curses, drew it down upon the 
Indian. "The dirty coyot'," he muttered, coolly, "he'll 
never try to cut out stock again!" 

I threw myself forward, just in the nick of time. "For 
God's sake. Colonel, let him go," I cried. 



CHAPTER XXIV 

THE END OF THE TRAIL 

WITH much flourishing of their long bows the In- 
dians were under way five minutes later, the 
buxom squaw in the lead. She was on foot. 
Well mounted and strung out in single file, the others fol- 
lowed close in her wake. Immediately at her heels, plodded 
an old gray mare, bearing a large net-work sack bulging out 
with camp supplies. On top of this load was perched the 
pretty little girl. The boy rode a wild young burro. The 
fine looking brave possessed the only saddle and bridle in 
his outfit, the others riding with blanket and hakemore. As 
my volcanic companion still rumbled defiance, I did not 
regret the departure of the Indians. 

After allowing them an hour's start we followed in their 
tracks — presumably they would lead to fresh water and no 
other trail was In evidence. The body of water which had : 
seemed to bar our advance the preceding evening we found i 
to be merely the lower end of the Laguna Salada and easily 
fordable. As our course for the day was northwest and 
west we had every opportunity to observe this most strange 
lake. It reaches out into the barren desert for eight or 
nine leagues with a width of from one hundred to several 
hundred metres. According to Indian report, it gains depth, 
width and saltiness from the overflows of the Hardy; when 
there has been no rain storm and no recent overflow. It Is 
almost drinkable ; at other times, lured to its shores by thirst, 
men have died miserable deaths. \ J 

317 



31 8 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

Shortly after fording the Laguna Salada I caught sight 
of a pair of nice looking young porkers rooting along the 
shore. Though presumably property of the Indians, they 
looked so inviting, that I readily found in recent events, 
acceptable justification for extreme action. Accordingly, 
my mind pleasingly filled with toothsome visions of roast 
pig, I hastily dismounted, carbine in hand. But alas! my 
companion interrupted me, even as I was drawing a bead. 
"Say, them aint wild hogs!" he exclaimed, excitably. "Them 
must belong to the Cocupas. You haint got any right or call 
to kill them shoats." And this, in all earnestness, from the 
man who a few hours earlier was about to shoot down an In- 
dian, without a tremor ! Utterly bewildered, I desisted and 
we moved on. Gradually, slowly, out of a confused maze 
of thoughts I began to appreciate the Colonel's frontier 
code of ethics. "Alius kill a rattlesnake an' a thievin' In- 
dian," it would run, "but don't never hanker arter live stock 
that aint yourn. No, not even arter an Indian's hog." 

L.We found the desert near the Laguna so barren and salty 
that I rather doubt whether it would be passable in summer 
except immediately after a shower. Even as it was my 
mule Pedro gave out early in the afternoon and I had to 
mount Chappo, a large, stalwart Socorro burro, which we 
had rescued from the Kaliwas near Valle Trinidad. At six 
o'clock in the evening we arrived at the base of a lofty range 
of rocky sierras which marked the farther side of the desert. 
Here, in the mouth of an arroyo, we made camp, but no 
sooner were we comfortably settled than we heard the shrill 
cries of Indian children at play, from which we rightly con- 
cluded that we were in the vicinity of some encampment. 
The Colonel, therefore, brought in the stock while I pre- 
pared supper. Soon a number of mounted Cocupas passed 
us. One, a man of forty, addressed me in broken Spanish. 
Over twenty of his people, he explained, were camped 



THE END OF THE TRAIL 319 

nearby. In a day or two a larger party would join them 
after which they would ascend the sierras for pifions and 
deer. Meantime, would I give him meat, tobacco, coffee 
and sugar? Wholly dissatisfied with the small gift which 
I graciously handed over, the buck fell into a somber study. 
Presently, with deep guile, he again addressed me : His wife 
was a wonderful cook, he explained. Why should a stalwart 
white hunter cook? The wife should do the white hunter's 
cooking for two weeks, and in return the white hunter 
should pay him ten dollars for her services. The Colonel, 
coming into camp at this moment and understanding the 
buck's proposition, roared with laughter, whereupon the 
Indian rode away in high dudgeon. 

Early the following morning we were in the saddle. 
Without any preliminary dilly-dallying we rode plump into 
the Indian encampment and with a proper and judicious dis- 
tribution of tobacco began to make inquiries concerning the 
nearest white man's road. As one of the bucks responded 
by waving a hand toward the south and southwest and then 
successively pointing to the rising sun and to the west where 
it would set, we interpreted this sign play as meaning that 
a southwesterly course would bring us to a road by night- 
fall. Following this theory we ascended the face of the 
sierras by an indistinct and fearfully abrupt Indian trail. 
'As we arose above the plain a magnificent view unfolded 
below us: at our feet the broad gray desert with its long 
shimmering salt lake, farther to the north and east the yel- 
lowish Cocupa Sierras and the parti-colored Sierra del 
Pinto ; over beyond these the delta of the Colorado and the 
Hardy. 

High up among great cliffs and mid barren surroundings 
we clambered, suffering the meantime intensely from the 
unrestrained rays of the fiery sun. Soon the Colonel's mule 
gave out, then Chappo became sullen. Not only did we have 



,320 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

to walk but our mules were so determined to move no fur- 
ther that all our reserves of energy were required to urge 
them on. Five hours of this sort finally brought us to the 
crest of the sierra, an elevation of at least a mile in an ascent 
no more than seven times that distance. During this climb 
we had each drunk over a gallon (eleven three-quarter-pint 
cups) of water! On a short allowance I do not think that 
either of us could have managed for in the dry intense heat 
of a Baja California summer, heavy exercise, except in the 
timber country, produces such violent perspiration that fre- 
quent and copious draughts of water are absolutely essential. 

On the crest we found a region of white granite picachos, 
scrub oaks and piiion trees where criss-crossing trails ad- 
vised us of the recent presence of cattle. When we had 
advanced perhaps a mile into this country, a heavy storm of 
rain suddenly burst over us. Quickly the air grew chilly, 
and amidst crash on crash of thunder and vivid flashes of 
lightning, a shower of hail stones, the size of pigeon eggs, 
beat upon us. For twenty minutes the storm raged wildly, 
completely soaking us and our outfits. To add to our 
vexation every cow path became a hurrying stream so in- 
distinguishable from its neighbor that, after losing time fol- 
lowing various water courses, we had to admit that we had 
lost our trail. The balance of that day and the ensuing 
forenoon were spent in vain search north, south and west 
for some pass through the cliffs and brush. I would not 
want to say how many picachos we climbed in determined 
effort to locate our bearings. Finally, we worked into the 
open timber country to the southwest and in the late after- 
noon made camp on the edge of a beautiful fresh water pond 
which we assumed to be Laguna Hanson. 

A wagon road was near at hand and upon this we set 
forth the ensuing day, northward bound. For thirty-five 
miles we traveled through a delightful pine forest where the 



THE END OF THE TRAIL 321 

nights were frosty and the morning air sharp and bracing; 
then we descended to the lower altitude of scrub oaks, brush, 
warm weather and dust. After passing a succession of 
jewel diggings, ranchos and gold mines we found ourselves 
face to face with the American border town of Campo. 
Swinging off to the west, we passed through Tecarte Valley 
and hugging the Line closely for two days, rode into the 
little town of Tia Juana on the 6th of September, 1906. 

Twenty-five days had elapsed since our departure from 
Socorro ; twenty-two of them had been spent in the saddle, a 
driving — and most appropriate — finish for the seven months 
of my explorations.* The Colonel estimated the distance 
covered in the twenty-two days at five hundred miles, an 
altogether respectable figure ; my own notes show forty less. 
But the time of year, the untrod wilderness, the changing 
temperatures and the varying altitudes had been the most 
trying elements of the experience. Inured to hardships 
though we were, we both realized that we had been trav- 
eling. The mules seemed to have a similar view. The 
burros, however, came through in marvelous form. 

Tia Juana ! Nine and a half months earlier, as the mel- 
low light of the dying day, the shortest lived day in all the 
year, flickered along the horizon, I had made camp near 
this forlorn little border pueblo for the first night of my 
wanderings on the peninsula. As my journey began at 
Tia Juana, there let it end. 

As I write these closing lines there comes over me a 
flood of recollections — of gorgeous sunrises and sunsets, of 
evenings about the camp fire with copperhued brave or 
swarthy Mexican telling of days that are gone, of nights 
on the lone deserts with the glittering stars and white moon 
close overhead. Once more with Seiior Dick I am riding 
southward along the King's Highway. Again I see the 

*Note E: Appendix. 



322 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

lordly big-horn and hear the sharp crack of the carbine. 
Again the Laird and I read Kipling and Balzac while with- 
out the tent storms the Madame. Once more I gaze over 
the desolate wastes of the Llanos de Ojo Liebre while Cas- 
tro in hollow tones presages impending doom. This gloomy 
picture fades and before me now are the lovely valleys of 
San Ignacio and Comondu. Again I hear the soft melodies 
of the sweet voiced muchachas of Mulege. Again I am 
resting in the orange groves by the regal Mission of San 
Xavier. Once more is Praemundi calling and I half rise, 
ready to mount, as I hear his crisp, "Senor, listo cami- 
nando." 

But what wild memory is this that now seizes me? Ah, 
the intrepid Colonel with his ingenuous profanenessi What 
are you saying, comrade of the wilds? What? Your 
prophesy! Well — mayhap, now in office confines, may- 
hap I do long for the trail, mayhap I do feel "solemcully 
like." Yes, you are right I do "miss — my chaps, taps and 
latigo straps." Perhaps, yes, God willing, I'll come again. 



[finis] 



APPENDIX 

I. NOTES. 

Note A, Chapter IV. Lower California is the least 
known and most unsettled section of all Mexico. Over seven 
hundred miles in length, it varies from thirty-five to one 
hundred and forty miles in breadth. Its total population is 
not in excess of thirty thousand. Take out the dozen largest 
towns and less than five thousand persons remain; they are 
scattered over nearly forty million acres of territory. More 
than three-fourths of this great area is mountainous. For 
the benefit of those desirous of further information con- 
cerning conditions in Lower California, reference is here 
made to the author's "Mother of California" (1908, 
Paul Elder & Co., Publishers, New York and San Fran- 
cisco. Price, $2.00), from which, through the courtesy of 
Paul Elder & Co., the following chapter is here reproduced. 

"Physical Lower California. 

"Geographically, Lower California is a long, jagged 
peninsula, lashed on its western and southern shores by the 
booming waves of the Pacific Ocean, and separated from the 
mainland of Mexico by the restless Colorado River and by 
the opalescent waters of the Sea of Cortez, or, as that body 
is termed with less grace but greater frequency, the Gulf of 
California. With a general trend from northwest to south- 
east, this strange territory attains a maximum length of 
some two hundred and fifty leagues, although its breadth in 
places is a scant ten and nowhere exceeds fifty leagues. In 
round numbers the area of Lower California exceeds thirty- 
eight million acres, and of these, seventeen and a quarter 
million are north of the twenty-eighth parallel of latitude. 
In calling the gulf the Adriatic of the West and in likening 
the Peninsula to their beloved Italy, the Jesuits made an 
excellent general comparison, both topographically and cli- 
matically. Lower California is a hundred miles the longer, 
however, while the Italian peninsula has the greater breadth. 

323 



324 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

Also, the latter enjoys more moisture and has more level 
land. 

"From the American boundary on the north to Cape San 
Lucas, shouldering high above cactus-clad plains, small 
oases and parched deserts, there extends throughout the 
California Peninsula a mighty range of grim mountains, 
sloping away to the west, breaking off to the east in abrupt, 
awe-inspiring cliffs. Of these sierras, five thousand feet is 
but an average height, and he who explores their lofty ridges 
is rewarded by views of majestic grandeur which some day 
will be heralded among men. Rich in boulders, cliffs, min- 
erals and cacti, the entire Peninsula is strangely devoid of 
trees and springs, except about the timber plateaus of 
Laguna Hanson, San Pedro Martir Sierra and in the 
Laguna Sierras above San Jose del Cabo. Few passes bisect 
the main range. In one section of these sierras mesas are 
the rule, in another lofty peaks are outlined sharply against 
the sky. Truncated cones are frequent. San Pedro Martir 
Sierra, in many reports and without valid ground therefor^ 
termed 'Calamahue Mountain,' attains an altitude of 10,126 
feet and is the highest peak in Lower California; certain of 
its unsealed heights should appeal to the daring of the more 
intrepid members of the Sierra, Mazama, Alpine or kindred 
mountain-climbing associations. Throughout the main 
peninsula range the soil is usually shallow; frequently there 
are massive, beetling shoulders of rock, devoid of any earth; 
again and again long white scars mark where sudden tor- 
rents of prehistoric or modern times have torn aside the 
thin covering and exposed a granite heart; and yet within 
sight of this poverty of soil there is found at times an arroyo 
bottom where a spring bubbles out beneath the shadow of 
a palm and waters marvelously rich acres of sandy loam. 

"Sections of this sierra have local names. The mountains 
back from San Jose del Cabo are known as the Laguna — 
and also as the San Lazaro — Mountains, those immediately 
south of La Paz are called the Cacachilas; the grim ridges 
and peaks back of Loreto were known, even among the an- 
cient padres, as the Sierra Giganta; the sierras, southwest 
of San Ignacio and separating the llanos of Ojo de Liebre 
and Magdalena, are called, indiscriminately, the Sierra Pin- 
tada and the Santa Clara Sierras; San Pedro Martir Sierra 
is a range by itself, extending for fifty miles northwest and 



APPENDIX 325 

southeast and having a plateau width of nigh ten miles : the 
timber-covered mountains northwest of Santa Catarina 
Mission_ are spoken of, locally, as the Laguna Hanson 
Mountains, and north of them lie a group of sharp peaks 
referred to as The Picachos'; immediately west of the 
mouth of the Colorado River lies a weird range of barren, 
sand-swept mountains called the Sierra del Pinto, and a few 
miles northwest of the Pintos lie the Cocupa Sierras. 

"Part and parcel of these sierras are their deep and tor- 
tuous arroyos, immense, long and winding gorges slashed 
deep into the sierras and frequently containing springs or 
water-holes and spots of alluvial soil. 

"The sierras and the arroyos tell of their prehistoric life. 
The vast stretches of lava formation, the sea-shells on the 
lofty ridges and peaks, the mud volcanoes at the headwaters 
of the Hardy River, the spark of life that still throbs rebel- 
liously within the lofty Tres Virgenes towering above San 
Ignacio, the not infrequent temblors, the mighty chasms, 
rent asunder by the awful convulsions of nature; these all 
bespeak the volcanic origin of the land. Geologists class the 
sierra back-bone of the Peninsula as a continuation of the 
mountain ranges in eastern San Bernardino and Riverside 
Counties and in central San Diego County in the State of 
California. They parallel the range with submarine sierras, 
evidenced by a series of islands and rocks fifty leagues off 
the western shore of the Peninsula and separated therefrom 
by great depths of water. These scientists say, further, that 
the region about and Immediately above San Jose del Cabo 
Is the remnant of a formerly existing tropical peninsula that 
extended southward along the Mexican coast, taking In the 
Tres Marias and other islands and separated from the bal- 
ance of the present California Peninsula by a channel pass- 
ing westerly from the Bay of La Paz to the Pacific Ocean. 
They proceed with their theory and make another prehis- 
toric island of the territory between the Cape Region and 
the twenty-ninth parallel of latitude north. Certainly, along 
the line of each of these supposed channels the sierras dip 
downward and the Peninsula is extremely narrow. 

"Examined from a modern topographical standpoint,, 
Lower California consists of four natural subdivisions, viz. : 
the Cape Region, embracing the Cape San Lucas section and 
extending northward slightly above the latitude of La Paz 



326 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

to, say, 24° 20' north; Central Lower California, extending 
northward from the Cape Region to the twenty-eighth par- 
allel north; the "Waist," the narrow, rugged region from 
the twenty-eighth to the thirtieth parallel of north latitude, 
and La Frontera, including the territory from the thirtieth 
parallel to the international boundary (lying just north of 
the thirty-second parallel of north latitude and defined, by 
the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, as a straight line run- 
ning from the junction of the Gila and Colorado Rivers 
to a point one marine league south of the port of San Diego 
as located by a survey made in 1782). Climatically, and 
from their flora and fauna, Central Lower California and 
the Waist are intermediary between the Cape Region, which 
is semi-tropical, and La Frontera, which is not unlike Sonora 
and the southern part of the State of California. 

"The large sections of the Peninsula which are not sierra 
regions are usually either wide deserts or hot barren llanos, 
or plains. Guadalupe Valley, above Ensenada, in La Fron- 
tera, is an exception, being vastly similar to the great farm- 
ing valleys so frequent in the State of California. Scat- 
tered here and there about La Frontera are excellent tracts 
of farming land, such as the valleys of San Telmo and 
Rosario, and along the Hardy and the Colorado Rivers 
there are thousands of acres of fertile and level land, which 
by reclamation would become extremely productive. The 
land of the Colorado Desert also is alluvial and produces 
heavily after Irrigation, as does that about San Quintln. 
The desert back of the Cocupa Sierras and bordering on the 
Laguna Salada and the San Felipe Desert, further south, 
are excellent grazing districts, but the title of 'desert' well 
describes them. 

"The Waist Is practically devoid of level lands, excepting 
mesas or llanos, floored with lava. In the neighborhood 
of Los Flores, however, there are some rather large valleys. 

"In Central Lower California are found the most exten- 
sive llanos on the Peninsula, those of Ojo de Llebre and 
Magdalena; they border on the Pacific Ocean and contain 
hundreds of thousands of acres of level or rolling land. 
Could these be cleared of cacti and reached by water, they 
would make good agricultural land, unless alkali material- 
ized. 

"The Cape Region Is the most productive portion of the 
Peninsula, the San Jose Valley and the country about San 



APPENDIX 327 

Jose del Cabo and Todos Santos being beautiful garden 
spots. 

"But while La Frontera has greater known level tracts 
of land, suitable for farming purposes, than have the three 
southern sub-divisions, throughout the sierras, In the latter 
there are immense arroyos, floored with fertile soil and 
watered by small streams; these arroyo spots are unsur- 
passed for their productiveness and support the greater part 
of the population of the Peninsula. The good soil In these 
three sections of the country is usually of an ashy volcanic 
loam. 

"The Colorado and the Hardy are the only rivers that 
touch Lower California. The so-called 'rivers' of Tia 
Juana, San Vicente, Santo Domingo, Rosario, Mulege, 
Comondu, Purislma, Todos Santos, San Jose, etc., are small 
streams except In time of exceptional storm or of cloudburst. 
Of these last named 'rivers' the Purislma carries the larg- 
est volume of water; accurately speaking, It Is a long chain 
of broad water-holes, scooped deep In the rocky bottom 
of a great arroyo where rain- and spring-water alike 
gather. The San Jose and Todos Santos streams are In 
the Cape Region; the Purislma, Comondu and Mulege 
streams In Central Lower California; and the Rosario, 
Santo Domingo, San Vicente and Tia Juana, together with 
the Hardy and the Colorado Rivers, are in La Frontera. 
The Waist boasts no streams, 

"The Hardy River and the Colorado River are In 
classes by themselves. Books have been written concern- 
ing the Colorado : Its romance has been published, Its 
tragedy Is being enacted. For generations Its tidal bore 
caused men to marvel and to fear to approach its mouth, 
and yet, In September, 1906, burro deer, coyotes and a 
man waded across the river just above its junction with 
the Hardy, passing, in their journey, the carcass of a 
whale left stranded high and dry! Formerly, when the 
snow began to melt in the high mountains where it headed 
and spring rains fell, the Colorado poured down Into the 
Sea of Cortez with a mighy torrent, and then, before the 
powerful tides of that sea, its waters were forced back, 
only to return as a tidal bore close in the wake of the re- 
treating tide. Doubtless the river will return to this course 
now that It has been brought back to Its bed again. In this 
play of ocean and sea the Hardy, too, had Its part, over- 



32 8 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

flowing into the desert by the Laguna Salada when the 
Colorado overflowed, and then draining back into the 
Colorado at its leisure. After its overflow the Hardy is 
from fifty to a hundred yards in width and, its snaky course 
considered, doubtless fifty leagues in length. Its head- 
waters are among a group of some sixty mud volcanoes, 
situated about eight leagues south of the international 
boundary and an equal distance west of the Colorado 
River. These Volcanoes' have been described as 'circular 
holes containing boiling mud and exhaling a naphtha-like 
odor. Many of them are encrusted with mud forming 
cones three to four feet high, from the apex of which pro- 
ceed mingled vapors of water, sal amoniac and sulphur.' 
Between the brackishness of its source and the incoming 
tide, the Hardy is a murky, salty stream. 

"North of the Hardy River there is a considerable 
laguna, or lake, and several smaller ones. Laguna Salada 
(sometimes termed Laguna Maquata) is a long, narrow, 
brackish lake southwest of the main ridge of the Cocupa 
Sierras; reinforced by the overflows of the Hardy, at other 
times this lake dwindles down into two sloughs. Eight or 
nine leagues further southwest, surrounded by pines and at 
an altitude of over five thousand feet, lies Laguna Hanson, 
a crystal gem of water. At the meadow of La Grulla on 
the heights of San Pedro Martir Sierra there is a very 
small pond. All of these bodies of water are in La Fron- 
tera. In the Waist of the Peninsula there are two small 
lagunas, one known as Lake Chapala while the other has 
no known name. In the Cape Region there is a laguna in 
the sierras above San Jose del Cabo. These lagunas are 
nothing more than ponds. 

*'With a coast line so indented that its full length is over 
six hundred leagues in actual measurement, the Peninsula 
is richly endowed with harbors and bays. Fleets might 
search the seas for more magnificent retreats than Magda- 
lena Bay on the Pacific and Playa Los Angeles on the Gulf. 
The first of these is described in the publications of the 
United States Hydrographic Office as 'one of the most spa- 
cious and safe harbors in the world, (it) is about fifteen 
miles long, northwest and southeast, and twelve miles wide.' 
The actual length of this great sheet of water, however, is 
nearer forty than fifteen miles, but points making out from 
the mainland and from Santa Margarita, a long narrow 



APPENDIX 329 

island crowded In shorewards, divide it into two bays of 
which the northerly one is termed Magdalena and the 
southerly Almaca, or Almejas, Bay. Among the old-time 
whalers these bays were known as Weather and Lee Bays. 
Numerous large lagoons branch out from Magdalena Bay. 
Although there is a small settlement on Margarita Island, 
the only really excellent water is brought from the Rancho 
of Matancita, on the mainland, leagues distant. Through 
the courtesy of Mexico, the United States Is permitted to 
send her men-of-war to Magdalena Bay for target prac- 
tice, and the booming cannon of the great white ships 
awaken, periodically, the echoes about the lonely harbor. 
Playa Los Angeles is a superb sheet of water, covering an 
area of nigh twenty-five miles. Protected on the east and 
the northeast by no less than fifteen Islands and islets, it is 
a tranquil, land-locked harbor where whales are wont to 
bring forth their young, undisturbed by clanging bells, es- 
caping steam or the splash of anchors. The majestic curve 
of its shore lines and its inviting stretches of sandy beach 
call forth the admiration of the few strangers who chance 
to behold them. The Bay of Sebastian Viscaino on the 
west coast Is full sixty miles in width and over fifty in Its 
inland reach. Puerto San Bartolome, also on the Pacific, 
and PIchillngue, Puerto Escondido and Santa Rosalia on 
the Gulf are magnificent, well-protected harbors, while the 
entire coast line is notched with small bays and open road- 
steads at least a dozen of which are noteworthy, though 
they remain practically unvlslted. 

"The islands adjacent to the coast are as numerous as its 
indentations. Indeed, their aggregate area has been esti- 
mated at one-fifteenth that of the Peninsula. Few of them 
are inhabited, however, save by sea-fowl, rabbits and goats, 
sheep or deer. The more Important are Cedros, Natlvl- 
dad, Guadalupe, and Margarita Islands off the west coast, 
and Ceralbo, Esplritu Santo, San Josef, Santa Catarlna, Car- 
men, San Lorenzo, Angel de la Guardia, and Montagu In the 
Gulf. Of these Angel de la Guardia, forty miles In length and 
with an extreme width of ten miles. Is the largest; Cedros, 
twenty-nine miles In length and with an extreme width of 
nine miles. Is second; the others named are from six to 
seventeen miles in length. The majority of all these islands 
are mountainous; Guadalupe boasts a peak with an eleva- 
tion of 4,523 feet, the heights of Cedros approach 4,000 



330 CAMP AND CAMINO IxV LOWER CALIFORNIA 

feet, while a range nigh to that elevation runs the length 
of Angel de la Guardia. Though of volcanic origin many 
of these islands have more or less vegetation, several of 
them have been noted guano fields; Guadalupe and Cedros 
possess considerable timber; Angel de la Guardia is abso- 
lutely barren. 

"There is excuse enough for barrenness in Lower Cali- 
fornia, however, for there rain is capricious: sometimes it 
may fall in every season of the year, sometimes it may forget 
to fall at all. In this strange country rain is an event and 
even happens without clouds. Snow is somewhat regular 
in the northern sierras, dew comes with the midnight in the 
Waist of the Peninsula, and fogs are not infrequent along 
the western coast above the Cape Region. It may be safely 
said that the Cape Region and the country bordering on the 
Sea of Cortez receive their rainfall from the tropical sum- 
mer rains originating in the Gulf of Mexico, the heaviest 
and surest rainfall being precipitated along the sierra back- 
bone. It may also be said that the west coast of La Fron- 
tera, or that portion of it above San Quintin, is subject to 
most uncertain winter rains, the tail end of storms which 
originate in the far North. Throughout the country the 
rain-water disappears almost as soon as the rain is over. 

"Of springs, Lower California has a strangely limited 
number. The majority of them are found in the sides or 
heads of the sierra arroyos. Some of these, such as Agua 
Duke and Youbai in the Waist of the Peninsula, the springs 
of Comondu and Purisima in Central Lower California 
and the spring at San Bartolo in the Cape Region pour 
out immense bodies of water. The absence of springs on 
the great deserts and llanos is so complete that deaths by 
thirst have been numerous, and yet it is quite probable that 
artesian water might be found by boring either on the 
llanos above San Quintin, or along the more extensive 
stretches in Central Lower California near the Pacific 
Coast. Water has been readily found on these llanos by 
sinking wells of from forty to one hundred feet in depth, 
but no one seems to have been possessed of requisite energy 
to try for the liberal government reward offered to him 
who first obtains an artesian flow. There Is a fine bubbling 
soda spring at the old Mission of Calamyget, arsenic and 
borax springs have been found, and agiias calientes, or hot 
springs, are not Infrequent. Peculiar to the country, how- 



APPENDIX 331 

ever, and the most frequent watering-places in Lower Cali- 
fornia, are the tinajas, or natural cisterns. These are 
water-holes found in the rock-bottoms of arroyos where 
rain collects. In some of these tinajas there are thousands 
of gallons of water, and in them small fish and water-terra- 
pin are found. These tinajas are the salvation of those 
who travel about the Peninsula. 

"Considering its immense coast line, Lower California 
is not a land of many or severe winds. Off the northeast- 
ern portion of the Cape Region there occurs, at intervals 
of several years, a local hurricane known as El Cordonaso. 
While this hurricane has an ill reputation, it is of amusing 
interest from the tradition surrounding its name. Accord- 
ing to the residents, Oliver Cromwell ravaged the east 
coast of the Peninsula during the seventeenth century as 
a buccaneer, and so severe were his depredations that the 
hurricane was named for him. Even residents of education 
are thoroughly satisfied that the doughty Oliver visited the 
land during his time! Heavy winds occur periodically 
along the twenty-eighth parallel, and in the winter cold 
winds sweep across the northern portion of the Sea of 
Cortez and acquire added iciness from the snowy heights 
of San Pedro Martir. On the Gulf northwesterly winds 
prevail from October to May and southeasterly winds from 
May to October. The prevailing winds throughout the 
Peninsula are from the northwest and the southwest. The 
magnetic variation of the compass in Lower California 
reaches from six to fourteen degrees. 

"The air of Lower California is dry and pure and the 
atmosphere, except on the fog-swept western coast, is mar- 
velously clear. Southward from the thirty-first parallel 
one may easily read in the white light of the full moon, and 
in the Cape Region the Southern Cross adorns the heavens. 
South of the mouth of the Hardy River and off Ojo de 
Liebre treacherous mirages in many and varied designs de- 
ceive the vision and vex the traveler. Perhaps the very 
narrowness of the Peninsula gives to its atmosphere a touch 
of the bracing air of the sea, or perhaps the dryness of the 
land gives the air an intense purity; whatever the cause, the 
result is that there is probably no more healthful climate in 
the world than that of Lower California. This was the 
verdict of the Jesuit missionaries who were in touch with 
the "uttermost parts of the earth"; this was the verdict of 



332 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

the New York Volunteers who occupied the country during 
the Mexican War and whose officers likened the climate to 
that of Persia or Arabia, reporting in a year but two deaths 
from natural causes among fifteen hundred people; this has 
been the verdict of those who have resided in or explored 
the land. Certainly it is a country where disease is infre- 
quent and wounds heal readily, where extreme age is no 
rarity and physicians are practically unknown. Probably 
from a standpoint of health the most favored sections are 
along the line of the high sierras and throughout the Waist 
of the Peninsula. 

"The mean temperature of Lower California is not 
known. The coldest region is along the line of the San 
Pedro Martir Sierra, Valle Trinidad, the country about 
Santa Catalina Mission and through the Laguna Hanson 
range in La Frontera. Throughout this high plateau region 
there is an abundance of ice during the winter months and 
the nights are always cold. The Colorado and San Felipe 
Deserts in La Frontera and the llanos back from Magda- 
lena Bay experience as great heat as any sections of the 
country, but it is not a moist heat. For balmy air the 
Cape Region and the east coast of the Waist are unsur- 
passed. 

"In so summery a clime the least rainfall is sufficient to 
deck the land with a profusion of wild flowers and only an 
absolute drought destroys the abundant good grass, varie- 
ties of which haunt even the deserts. But the most fre- 
quent form of vegetation throughout Lower California Is 
the cactus. It has Its blooming time, too, for In the spring 
It sends forth blossoms of the deepest and most gorgeous 
hues. The mesqult and the attractive palo verde hover 
near the arroyos, the former attaining to Immense girth 
in Central Lower California and in the Waist Region. In 
La Frontera pines are practically unknown until the Cape 
Region with its pinons and scrub-oaks Is reached. The 
cacti flourish everywhere. The useful viznaga, the vicious 
cholla, the ocotilla, or Its cousin, the Palo Adan, the 
maguay and the tuna : these thorny growths greet the trav- 
eler as he crosses the International boundary, and he parts 
with them only at the Cape. The giant cardones and the 
prized pithaya thrive south of the thirty-first parallel, 
while the graceful cirlo or mllapa Is Indigenous to the 
Waist. In La Frontera there are few palms, but in the 



APPENDIX 333 

other sections of the country they stand guard above the 
springs and water-holes." 

Note B, Chapter XIX. In the fall of 1907 Mexico 
granted to the United States the right to establish and main- 
tain coaling stations at Magdalena Bay for a period of 
three years. Thereafter and on the i6th of December, 
1907, sixteen ships-of-the-line, flying the Stars and Stripes, 
left Hampton Roads, Virginia, bound for the Pacific Ocean. 
After brief visits at Trinidad, Rio de Janeiro, Punta Arena 
and Callao, the fleet put in, on the 12th of March, 1908, 
at Magdalena Bay, having made a cruise unprecedented in 
the naval annals of the world. A month's rest was had at 
Magdalena Bay to permit the gunners to engage in target 
practice. While thus occupied these superb marksmen, 
aided by the clearness of the atmosphere, promptly made 
innumerable new records for big gun shooting. 

From Hampton Roads to California the 16,000 ton 
Connecticut bore the flag of Rear Admiral Robley D. 
Evans, U.S.N., the commander in chief of the magnificent 
squadron, who thus fitly crowned a splendid career of nigh 
half a century In his nation's service. 

Note C, Chapter XXIL In his "Noticia de la Califor- 
nia" (Madrid, 1757), the old chronicler Miguel Venegas 
presented a crude wood-cut of the California mountain 
sheep, probably the earliest recorded likeness of the species. 
Hornaday's "Camp-Fires on Desert and Lava'' gives recent 
and entertaining account of Mexican big-horn as found in 
Sonora. It Is of interest to note that the suggestion con- 
tained In this latter work and In the "Mother of California" 
has borne fruit and that these noble animals are now pro- 
tected by federal enactments. In passing, I have not seen 
any of the specimens collected on the Mexican mainland by 
Mr. Hornaday. 

Note D, Chapter XXIII. In numbers the Cocupas are 
the most considerable Indian tribe In Baja California. So 
many of them, however, pass back and forth across the 
Colorado visting their kinsmen In Sonora that an accurate 
enumeration Is Impossible. I should consider three hun- 
dred a close estimate of the Baja California members of 
the tribe. The reputation of the Cocupas for peace has 
always been excellent and In sharp contrast to that of their 
neighbors, the Yumas and Yaquls. 



334 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

Note E, Chapter XXIV. I had traveled some twenty- 
five hundred miles in the saddle besides an equal distance 
on the Pacific and the Gulf. Accepting local estimates, 
thirty-five hundred miles would be more accurate for the 
land journeying; the value of such estimates, however, has 
been commented upon in Chapter XV. Though I crossed 
the Peninsula eleven times, six days at the old Mission of 
Santa Maria and an equal time in Santa Rosalia were the 
longest rests made along the way. An idea of the arid 
nature of Lower California may be gathered from the fact 
that out of two hundred nights spent in the open, seventy 
were "dry camps." 

As the reader of investigating mind may be interested 
therein I submit the following data not directly noted in 
the text, viz. : Beginning my wanderings in poor health, I 
experienced occasional periods of indisposition and dizzi- 
ness during the first six weeks; after that I "got my second 
wind," concluding my adventures twenty pounds heavier 
than at the outset. Despite sleeping in rainstorms, numer- 
ous drenchings and sharp and sudden changes of tempera- 
ture, I did not suffer from a single cold. And yet upon my 
visit to San Francisco in June, I was "sniffling" after the 
first night, sleeping indoors ! 

The varying, and not infrequently alkali, waters of the 
country seem to have no injurious effects on the system. 
Of foodstuffs I found broiled meats (whether fresh or 
dried), hardtack, flour-and-water tortillas, boiled rice with 
wild honey, stewed apricots, prunes and peaches, the most 
satisfying and wholesome. Of beans and cereals I shortly 
tired, while rice, which I rarely eat at home, was always 
acceptable. Not infrequently I experienced a childlike long- 
ing for candy or lump sugar. On the deserts I had little 
appetite, though I continually craved fresh fruits and vege- 
tables and astonished myself by enjoying raw onions; in the 
sierras I greatly appreciated fatty meats and was always 
hungry. As I never care for tea, coffee or milk, I lived 
without such beverages. Moreover, I carried neither 
canned goods nor ham. Between antelope, bighorn and deer, 
native dried beef and the superabundance of ducks, doves, 
rabbits and quail, I ate but little bacon. 

Finally, I used forty revolver and one hundred and ten 
carbine cartridges and nine hundred .22's. Of three cam- 
eras one, only, came through uninjured. 



APPENDIX 335 

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33^ CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

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APPENDIX 337 

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Ellison, O. C. In the Sea of Pearls. "Sunset Maga- 
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33^ CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

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340 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA 

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APPENDIX 341 

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INDEX 



"Adriatic of the West," 127. 

Augua Caliente, 41, 117. 

A?-Ja Dulce, 80, 276. 

Aguaje San Juan, 126. 

Alacran, 133, 294. 

Alamitos, 24. 

Alamo, 19, 21, 289. 

Alarcon, Hernando de, 128, 304. 

Alforcas, 32>- 

Almaca Bay, 297. 

Americano, 31, 216. 

Angel de la Guarda Island, 126. 

Anita, 20, 290. 

Annexation, 55. 

Antelope, 90, 106, 136, 144. 146, 152, 

209. 
Antelope of the Sierras, 208, 287. 
Antidote, 202. 
Arnes, Padre, 85. 
Arrilliga, Governor, 20, 269, 298. 
Arroyes, 38, 204, 231, 280. 
Arroyo Grande, 57, 66, 293, 297. 
Arsenic, 102. 
Audubon, 113. 

B 

Baegert, Padre Jakob, 113. 

Baile, 167, 262. 

Bancroft, 56, 65, 215. 

Bay of Los Angeles, 127. 

Bears, 271, 286. 

Bells, III, 118, 207, 215, 221. 

Berrenda, 90, vide Antelope. 

Bewener, 133. 

Ben, 32, 58, 61. 

Big-Horn, 25, 90, 113, 209, 286, 295. 

Big-Horn Meat, 30, 95- 

Birds, 104, 190. 

Black Warrior Lagoon, 147. 

Books, 99, 106, 170, 198. 

Borrego, vide Big-Horn. 

Bouchet, Mayor, 175. 

Boulbon, Count Raousset, 50. 

Browne, J. Ross, 146, 252, 274. 

Buried Treasure, 19, 86, 170, 221, 

222. 
Burros, 32, 82, 120, 158, I97. I99» 

226, 228, 281, 299, 304- 



Cabeza de Vaca, 18, 25. 
Cabrillo, Juan, 172, 224, 243. 



Cacachilas, 237, 242. 

Cacti, 23, 62, 103, 189, 228. 

Callaitte, M., 187. 

"Calamahue Mountain," 274. 

Calamajuet, 97. 

Calamyget Mission, 85, 102. 

Calmalli, 70, 138. I39, IS3- 

Camalii, 266. 

Camino, 160, 171, 208, 229, 276. 

Campanile, 135. 

Campo, 321. 

Canal de Ballenas, 127. 

Carbajakaamang, 85. 

Carmen Island, 216. 

Caroline, 50. 

Castro, 138, 141, 147. 158, 172. 

Catarina Yumas, 18, 20, 290. 

Cedros Island, 150, 261. 

Children, 118, 161, i77. 217. 

Chiquita Pithaya, 155. 

Chivos, 90. 

ChoUa, 104, 189. 

Clavijero, Padre, 65, 112, 209. 

Cochimis, 72, loi, no, 118. 

Cocupa Indians, 275, 309, 318. 

Cocupa Sierras, 297, 308. 

Coffee, IIS, 227. 

"Colonel," 278, 314. 

Colorado Desert, 298. 

Colorado River, 18, 297, 303- 

Comondu, 202, 204. 

Condor, 26, 271. 

Consag, Padre, 90, 126, 305. 

Contentment, 96. 

Contrabandistas, 126. 

Cookery, 34, 89, 201, 227, 313. 

Coronado, 32, 172, 197- 

Correo, 33, I75- 

Cortez, 32, 199, 239. 

Courtesy, 217, 230, 259. 

Coyotes, 22, 231. 

Credulity, 99- 

Curacao, 214, 223, 239. 

Currency, 131. I35- 

D 

Dancing, in, 142, 167. 
Deer, 106, 230, 271, 311- 
Dewey, Commander, 274. 
Diaz, President, 179- 
Dominicans, 76. 
Distances, 189, 214, 223. 
Doves, 15s. 190, 218, 231. 
Drinking-bout, 61. 



343 



344 



INDEX 



El Aimal, 131. 

El Providencia, 270. 

El Boleo, 176. 

El Camino Real, 22, 44, 75, 79, loi, 

188, 203, 211. 
Endurance, 63, 307. 
Ensenada, 259. 



Fiesta, 141. 

Fleas, 57, 263. 

Flowers, 123, 128, 207, 217, 222, 271. 

Fog, 150. 

Fort McKibben, 51. 

Frailes, 19, no. 

Fruit, 166, 168, 222. 



Gabb, Wm., 192. 

Gamusa, go. 

Gandia, Duchess of, 85. 

Garyzar, Rudolfo, 175, 179. 

Girls, 161, 167, 193, 194, 231, 265, 

282. 
Goats, 90. 
Gringo, 216. 

Guadalupe Mission, 192. 
Guarachas, 19, 183, 203. 
Guiacuras, y2. 

Gulfo Camino, 75, 131, 132, 276. 
Gun Permits, 140, 230. 

H 
Hall, 140. 

Hardy, Lieut., 193, 305. 
Hardy River, 297, 302, 303, 306. 
Heat, 285, 288, 300, 302, 307. 
Heller, Edmund 274. 
Hieroglyphics 64, 65, 288. 
Highways, 75. 
Honey, 38, 109. 
Hospitality, 167, 176, 217. 
Howard, Charley, 98. 
Humboldt, Alexander, 113. 



Iglesia, 78, 83, no, 135, 206, 220. 

Iguana, 118. 

Indian Life, 39, 62, 109, 118, 129. 

Indian Trail, 27- 

Insanity, 181, 184, 343. 

Irrigation, 78, 112, 218, 233. 

Isla de California, 169. 



Jesuits, 72, y6, 168, 191. 
Jacelcs, 168, 230. 



Jack-rabbits, 24, 136, 191. 
Jesus, 79, 174, 224. 
Josefa, 141. 
Journals, 146. 
Juan, 18, 23, 297. 

K 

Kadakamann, 168. 
Kaliwas, 61, 272, 282. 



La Corona, 270. 

Ladrones, 20, 41, 271. 

La Grulla, 270, 277. 

Laguna Hanson, 320, 

Laguna Salada, 312, 317. 

"Laird," The, 98, loi, 123. 

La Palonia, 177. 

La Paz, 173, 223, 238. 

Lario, 131. 

Lawrence, 16. 

La Yerba, 131. 

L'Encentada, 270. 

Link, Padre, 79, no, 273. 

Lions, :i7, 231, 271, 277. 

Llanos de Ojo Liebre, 136, 144, 146. 

Llanos de Santa Maria, 96, 106. 

Llorente, Padre, 21. 

Longevity, 39. 

Loreto, 188, 214, 253. 

Los Flores, 128. 

Los Parros, 218. 

Lost Mission, 169, 2)2)'^- 

Lower California, 17. 

Luyando, Padre, 168. 

M 
Magdalena Bay, 214, 223, 247. 
Maguay, 64. 

Man-of-War Island, 255. 
Mala Zorea, 202, 228. 
Maps, 2i7^ 228. 
Marco Polo, 114. 
Mar de Cortez, 62,, 82, 211. 
Marriage, 139. 

Marron, Praemundi, 183, 226, 243. 
Marseliano, Padre, 194, 201. 
Matancital, 223, 232. 
Matomi, 79, 269. 
Mayorga, Padre, 205. 
Malendrez, 54. 
Melons, 40, 310, 315. 
Mescal, 107, 167, 200, 201, 218, 292, 
Mexia, Mauricio, 194. 
Mexican War, 47, 303. 
Mines, 97, 138, 174, 182, 241, 266, 
267, 321. 



INDEX 



345 



Mirages, 147, 300. 

"Miss Bertie," 265. 

Missions, 75, 169, 213, 218, 222, 225. 

Mountain Sheep, vide Big-Hom. 

Moso, 31, 79, 198, 224. 

Mulege, 192. 

Municipal Court, 182. 

Music, III. 

N 
Nature, 79, 93- 
Nelson, E. W., 114. 

O 

Ojo Liebre, 146. 

Olives, 112, 166, 192, 195. 

Onyx, 80. 

Orchilla, 253. 

Osuna, Don Jose, 201. 

Otera, Rita, loi, 109. 

Outfit, 31, 224. 

Oymart, Sr., 309. 

P 
Pack Rats, 98. 

Paintings, 110, 171, 215, 217, 220. 
Pais, 38. 
Palms, 150, 161, 166, 168, 195, 204, 

224. 
Panoche, 168. 
Paraiso, 132. 
Parson, 2>2. 

Passport, 140, 232, 270, 27s. 
Patio, 83, 201. 

Pattie, James O., 21, 48, 298, 305. 
Pearls, 238. 
Pedregal, 103. 

Pedestrianism, 203, 228, 229. 
Pericues, 72, 91. 
Pestilence, 72, 91. 
Petroglyphs, 65, 272, 288. 
Piccolo, Padre, 221. 
Pichilingue, 244. 
Picturesqueness, 135. 
Pines, 271, 320. 
Plains of Buenos Ayres, 79. 
Plank, Dr., 128. 
Portola, Don Caspar de, 69. 
Primera Close, 180, 194, 244. 
Presentacion Mission, 225. 
Purisima, 201. 
Purisima Rio, 198. 
Purisima Mission, 201. 



Quali, 24. 
Quarries, 80, 248, 



Q 



Railroad, 57. 
Rain, 75, 132, 235. 



R 



Rattlesnakes, 191, 227. 
Rancheros, 200, 230. 
Ravens, 94. 
Reavis, Frank, 1^7. 
Rebozo, 167, 203. 
Romero, Don Amadeo, 216. 
Roosevelt, Colonel, 115. 
Ropa, 122, 123. 
Rosand, M., 174. 
Rosarita, 276. 
Rothschilds, 62. 
Runaway Couple, 81, 242. 
Rurales, 174, 229, 275. 



Salamankaser, 100, 202. 

Salt, 192, 216. 

Salto Los Reyes, 235. 

Salvatierra, Padre, 168, 205, 213. 

San Angel, 149, 156, 160. 

San Antonio Real, 241. 

San Augustine, 80. 

San Borja, 85, 109. 

San Felipe Desert, 67, 269, 285, 288. 

San Fernandines, 76, 77. 

San Fernando, 64, 69, 75, 77. 

San Francisquito, 96. 

Sanginez, Coronel, 22,7. 

Sangue, 94. 

San Ignacio, 156, 161, 164, 165, 167. 

San Ignacito, 112. 

San Joaquin, 68, 70. 

San Juan de Dios, 79, 269, 276. 

San Jose del Cabo, 44, 245. 

San Lorenzo Island, 133. 

San Luis Gonzaga Mission, 234. 

San Pedro Martir Mission, 269. 

San Pedro Martir Sierra, 17, Z7> 

68, 261, 266, 267. 
San Quintin, 57. 
San Sebastian, 133. 
Santa Catarina Mission, 19, 289. 
Santa Gertrudis Mission, 135. 
Santa Lucia, 192. 
Santa Margarita Island, 247. 
Santa Maria Mission, 83, 85, 89. 
Santa Maria de la Magdalena, 191. 
Santa Marita, 132. 
Sant' Augada, 173. 
Santa Rosalia, 173, 174. 
Santiago, 66. 
Santo Domingo, 264. 
Santo Tomas, 34. 
San Vicente, 43. 
San Xavier, 218. 
Scorpion, 294, vide Alacron. 
Skunks, 241. 
"Seiior Dick," 59, 69, 79, 97- 



346 



INDEX 



Seri Indians, 126, 128, 133. 

Serra, Padre Junipero, 69, 76, 78, 

213, 268. 
Sheep, Mountain, vide Big-Horn. 
"Shelling," 94. 
Side-Saddles, Native, 166. 
Side- Winders, 145, 228, 299. 
Siemper Vivens, 155, 159. 
Sierra de la Giganta, 209, 216. 
Sierra del Pinto, 297. 
Sistiago, Padre, 168. 
Skulls, no, 126. 
Snow, 22. 
Socorro, 265, 267. 
Soladeros, 119. 
Solecuati, 202. 
Song Birds, 123, 190. 
Starvation, 81. 
St. Denis, 260. 
Surgery, 100. 
Sugar-Cane, 196. 



Taje, 114. 

Tarantula, 130, 202. 

Taravel, Padre, 150. 

Tecarte, 321. 

Teguas, 115, 198. 

Thirst, 149, 157, 159, 166, 172, 198, 

248, 298. 
Thunderstorms, 309, 320. 
Tia Juana, 321. 
Tiburon, 128, 133, 190. 
Timoteo, 79, 89, 260, 276, 288. 
Tina j as, 66, 132, 159, 294. 
Toasts, 142, 187. 
Toba, Don Benigo de la, 234. 
Toothache, 115. 

Tortillas, 140, 148, 199, 204, 228, 230. 
Tower Castle, 147, 157. 
Trails, Z7, 102, 228, 25s, 276. 



Trees, 174. 
Tres Palomas, 270. 
Tres Virgenes, 170, 173. 
Triunfo, 241. 
Turtles, 126, 127, 255. 

U 
Ugarte, Padre Juan, 305. 
Ulloa, Francisco de, 249, 305. 



Valdellon, Tomas, 21. 
Vallecitos, 270. 
Valledaras, 264, 310. 
Valle Trinidad, 63, 269, 288. 
Valley of Palms, 82. 
Vega, Coronel Celsa, 259. 
Victoria, Sr. Gabriel, 59, 260. 
Villavacensio, Sr. Fidel, 115. 
Villavacensio, Sr. Guillermo, 166. 
Viznaga, 64, 154. 

W 

Walker, "Filibuster," 29, 49, 239, 

291, 298. 
Weather, 17, 23. 

Wild Flowers, 123, 128, 153, 189. 
Wine, 112. 
Whales, 126, 304. 

X 

Ximenes, Pedro, 25, 31, 71, 260. 



Yaquis, 47, 109, 120, 126, 177, 185, 

217. 
Ybarra, Don Emaliano, 137, 143. 
Youbai, Agua de, 104. 



31l77 



